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4 








THE 


MOEEISONS 

A 

I 

STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 


MRS. MARGARET "HOSMER. 

AUTHOR OF “ TEN YEARS OF A UFETUia.” 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 
306 CHESTNUT STREET. 

4 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S6S, by 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the 

Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


MRS. SARAH JOSEPH A HALE, 

THIS STORY 

IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSOltIBBD 

BY ITS 

AUTHOR. 





CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

Coming Home,.i<^. 

13 

The Letter, 

CHAPTER II. 

Breakfast,, 

CHAPTER III. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“Uncle Terry,”./....... 


Berkely’s Room,, . 

— CHAPTER V. 


^ CHAPTER VI. 

Doctor Windell,. . 56 


A \\t P 

CHAPTER VII. 

fii 


Addie West, 


61 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


Another Blow, 




CHAPTER VIII. 


Tableaux,, 




CHAPTER IX. 


Bess a Debtor, 



CHAPTER X. 


Bess acts a Play, 




CHAPTER XI. 


/ CHAPTER XII 

Wedded Bliss,. 


CHAPTER XIII 

Berkely does some business in Jewelry,, 


CHAPTER XIV 

Larry’s Headache,. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ Judith Killeth Holofernes,”.'. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Shadow of a Wrong,. .J-f. 

CHAlPTER XVII. 

/ 

A first Grief for Juliet,. ...k 


76 


83 


»3 


99 


109 


127 


112 


147 


1G4 


168 


CONTENTS. 


U 

^ CHAPTER XVIII. 

Bess off Duty, 172 

chapter XIX. 

Larry’s View of Property,. 177 

^-CHAPTER XX. 

Nell’s Sentiments,. ... 184 

^CHAPTER XXI. 

Katie’s Courtship,. .if. 193 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Katie Wins Her Game, 202 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Little Barnes 200 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

The Travelers’ Return 215 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Wedding, 231 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A Glimpse of Fortune, 227 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Nelly’s Dissipation, 232 


contp:nts. 


“ X 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Uncle Terry’s Dream, 237 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Barnes’ Confession of Faitli, 242 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Charlotte’s Protest, 245 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

All Together Once More, 260 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Uncle Terry’s Dream is read, 255 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A “Wake,” 258 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Fading, 2G2 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Terrible Tidings, 268 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Double Trouble, 2’72 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

One Scene Closes 279 


CON'fEN'rS. 


XI 


Bess’s Fright, 

CHAPTER XXXYIII. 

Doubts 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Dust to Dust,. .k \, ... 

--v CHAPTER XL.j 

Oak Hill, 

CHAPTER XLI. 

Larry’s Habits, 

CHAPTER XLII. 

309 

A Peace Party, 

CHAPTER XLIH. 

Penitence, 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

Violence, 

CHAPTER XLV. 

Its Effects, 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Larry Sees a Ghost, , . 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

341 


xii 

CONTENTS. 

Implicit Trust, 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

345 

4 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

Misgivings, 

349 

Larry Prays, 

CHAPTER L. 

356 

CHAPTER LI. 


“ That was Lost but now is Found,” 359 


The Day Breaks, 

CHAPTER LII. 

A Little Messenger,. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

CHAPTER LIV. 


Larry is Chief Mourner, 3G9 


“ Bess Morrison,”.. . 

% 

CHAPTER LV. , 

CHAPTER LVL 

Sunshine, 



. 


THE MORRISONS. 


CHAPTER I. 

COMING HOME. 

In the dull chilly twilight of a wintry afternoon, Berkely Mor- 
rison, a young man but lately returned from China, found him- 
self wandering in the streets of his native city. He had left the 
hotel at which he had arrived an hour before, with the intent to 
go directly to the house of his only living relations, to whom he 
bore a message, but coming upon street after street familiar to 
his boyhood, and being half sad, half curious to note the changes 
there — he had loitered on his way till night was closing round 
him. Remembering this, he changed his lingering step for a 
brisker one, and turned from the business streets where he had 
been jostled by homeward-bound business men, into the quiet 
precincts of Burleigh Place. 

A comfortable, substantial row of brick houses rose on either 
side, with something very neat and cheerful in their uniformity. 
Each had white -marble steps and facings, low parlor windows, 
broad door-ways, and large, well-shaken door-mats. In most 
of the windows shone reflected the clear warm glow of a grate 
fire, and through the half-closed curtains Berkely caught pleasant 
glimpses of home and homelike faces. 

Consulting a card of direction, and trying to decipher numbers 
in the dim twilight, he found himself in front of the house ho 
sought, the door of which bore a large plate with the name of 
“ Morrison ” upon it. 


14 : 


THE MORRISONS. 


Kow, that he stood there, a painful irresolution seized him, 
for he had taken a task upon himself that he shrank from, and 
eager to see the faces that had been dear to his boyhood, he 
dreaded the pain his coming might give them. Pausing on the 
door-step, he took a letter from his breast, considered it long 
and earnestly, and then putting it and his apparent reluctance 
away together, he rang the bell determinedly, and danced up 
and down meantime to keep his feet warm and prevent a return 
of indecision. He was still engaged in this pastime when glanc- 
ing towards the door, he found it open, and a half-grown girl in 
a large-sized apron regarding him with a pair of large, question- 
ing eyes. 

“Were Mrs. Morrison and the young ladies at home 
Berkely asked. 

“ Yes, they was,” the young attendant said ; and she further- 
more volunteered the information that “ they was a dressin’ for 
their tea, that Mrs. Morrison was up stairs and Miss Bess was 
in the kitchen, and the old man what was their uncle, he wasn’t 
home yet.” 

“ Jenny,” cried a voice from above stairs at this point, “ Jenny 
Brackett, open the parlor door and ask the gentleman to 
walk in.” 

Jenny obeyed, and said, as she did so, it being her nature to 
confide, “ That’s the old lady what’s a-calling now — and she’ll be 
down when I take up her cap what Miss Bess was fixing ; she 
was a calling for it when you rung the bell.” 

When this young person retired, closing the door after her, 
Berkely found himself in a handsome parlor, opening by folding 
doors into another. Both were tastefully furnished and per- 
fectly neat and well kept. There were pretty tables with ele- 
gantly bound books upon them, dark velvet sofas and easy 
chairs, graceful vases filled with fresh flowers, and a well-chosen 
picture or two on the walls. While he was yet looking with 
pleasure upon the cheerful comfort that surrounded him, the 
door opened again, and a good-looking old lady, with something 
very genial and youthful for her years about her, stood before 
him. She had quick, dark eyes, with which she looked at him 


COMING HOME. 


15 


inquiringly, while she dropt a courtesy of old-fashioned politeness, 
but no recognition. 

“ Of course, you don’t know me, aunt,” said Berkely. “ I am 
Lawrence Morrison’s son who weht to China fifteen years ago.” 

At his first words Mrs. Morrison threw up her hands with an 
expression of genuine astonishment, then seizing him by both of 
his, she cried out in a pleasant voice, that had an unmistakable 
Irish accent in it : 

“ Well, by this and by that, I’m proud to see you, Berkely 
Morrison I It’s a warm welcome your father’s son deserves 
from me, setting aside the blood relation that you are, for 
he was ever a friend to them that needed one, and there’s many 
a one alive this day to say the same.” With this she shook his 
hands fervently, and the tears sprang to her eyes with real 
pleasure as she looked at him. 

“ Oh, then, but I must away up stairs, and tell the girls,” 
she said, breaking off and hurrying to the door. 

“ Jenny,” she cried, “ Jenny Brackett, fly up and tell the 
girls to come away down and see their cousin. Stop, Jenny, I’ll 
go up myself, for they’ll never know it’s you till I explain it to 
them, Berkely dear. Sure,” she added, returning, “ it must ' 
have been at New York you landed, and it’s a wonder you saw 
nothing of Larry. He’s there these five months past about a 
new business he’s gone into.” 

“I did see Larry,” rephed Berkely, “ and it was his kind 
assurance, dear aunt, that you had not forgotten me, and that I 
might hope for a kindly welcome, gave me courage to drop down 
on you thus, unexpected and unannounced. I can’t tell you,” 
he added, with a flushed cheek, “how your hearty warmth 
affects me. I have been a wanderer and an alien so long, that 
a touch of home or home feeling goes straight to my heart.” 

“ Oh, then, but it’s yourself may look for both from us, dar- 
ling. You were but a slip of a lad when I saw you last, still 
you had a look of your father about you. You’ve kept it yet, 
and sure if my heart was stone that would melt it. It’s to your 
own house you’ve come, Berkely dear— and now I’ll fly up and 
tell the girls.” 


16 


THE M0REI80N8. 


“ God bless her ; this is pleasant/’ thought Berkely, as she 
bustled away all excitement. “ It looks like home, indeed, and 
a charming home, too ; no sign of Irish thriftlessness here ; my 
aunt must have abjured her country in all except its warmth and 
language. Ah, my cousins, I had forgotten them ; it may be 
their taste and neatness that has touched everything.” 

** The girls will be here this minute,” said Mrs. Morrison, re- 
turning as breathlessly as she had gone. “ They were delighted 
entirely to hear of your being back. They were little critters 
when you left, but they’ve heard of you and yours many’s the 
time from me.” 

“ I remember them perfectly the day I came with my father 
to say good bye,” said Berkely. “ It was in the summer time, 
and they were dressed in white. Katy had a large doll, and she 
put it down to come and kiss me when I was going, but Nelly 
hid her face behind you and wouldn’t speak to me.” 

“ See that, now,” cried his aunt ; “ Katy minds it, too, and 
speaks of it ; but Nelly was weakly and spoilt. We had been 
in this country but a little time then, and she was always laid up 
with some rash or other — the heat sat sore on her.” 

“ I suppose,” said Berkely, smiling, “ there will be no trace 
of the little girls I left, in the handsome young ladies Larry tells 
me they have grown to be.” 

“ Well, indeed, their looks are well enough,” returned his 
aunt. “ But,” she added, quickly, “ did Larry speak to you 
about Bess — Bess Saunders — my half-sister’s daughter? God 
knows she’s been like my own child to me, and I make no differ 
between them in my heart.” 

“ I hope Miss Saunders is well,” he answered, with a slight 
change in his voice and manner. “ I meant to have asked before. 
Larry told me you had every reason to esteem and love her.” 

While he was yet speaking, a young girl, tall and well formed, 
with a pale, clear complexion, and very dark eyes that con- 
trasted rather oddly with almost flaxen hair, entered the room 
with a quick, buoyant step, but stopped hurriedly on seeing a 
stranger there. 

“ Why, then, Bess, was it in the kitchen you were, and me to 


COMING HOME. 


17 


be looking for you all over the house, and never to think of it ? 
This is Berkely Morrison, that you^ve heard many a talk about, 
and he^s come back from China and has been in New York for 
months past, though Larry, the limb, never made mention of it. 
But to tell you the truth, Berkely, it^s little weVe heard from 
Larry lately anyhow, and I^ve often thought strange of the 
same.” 

“ He has been very busy,” said Berkely, confusedly, ** and I 
think I am to blame for not being mentioned. I preferred to 
I come unheralded as I have done.” 

I “ Where is Nelly and Katie, aunt ?” asked Bess, who had been 
I watching Berkely, and now broke in, to his evident relief. 

I “ Well, Bm afraid they’re just fashing themselves dressing, out 
! of compliment to their cousin, though I bid them never to heed, 
but come as they were.” 

At the mention of dress, Berkely glanced at Bess, who wore a 
dark calico gown and an ample gingham apron, about which she 
evinced no confused consciousness whatever, nor made any 
attempt to remove it. In another moment her plain attire com 
trasted greatly with the elegance of her cousins’, who entered 
gracefully, smiling, and blushing, with extended hands, which, 
as Berkely grasped fervently, filled him with admiration for their 
whiteness, softness and delicacy. “ Larry may well be proud of 
them,” he thought ; “ they are certainly very lovely,” and their 
easy amiability completed the charm and entirely captivated 
him. They were not excessive talkers, and with their mother 
before him, Berkely could scarcely wish them to be, but they 
said exactly what was appropriate, and were so interested when 
he spoke, laughed such sweet little girlish laughs when he re- 
called their early associations, and described the coral bracelets 
and red morocco shoes that were inseparable in his recollec- 
tion from Nelly, how Kate looked dignified in a frilled spencer 
at four years of age, and what a great awkward boy he felt 
beside them in his new broadcloth suit. They formed a circle 
round the glowing fire, Mrs. Morrison in an easy chair in the 
corner, and Berkely at her side, while his pretty cousins sat 
opposite. The red coals shed a cheery, pleasant light on their 


18 


THE MORRISONS. 


faces, and their hearts seemed opened to kindly, cordial feeling. 
The fifteen long years that spanned the past and present melted 
away and they were one. A foreign land and business cares 
seemed a dream to Berkely, and a happy fireside that had always 
been his dearest hope, seemed real. 

“ Aunt,” he said, being warmed into courage to make the 
proposition by the kindness that beamed in their eyes, “ I want 
to live with you — not to stay on a visit or come back and see 
you, but to really live and abide here, as Larry did. He will 
write to you about it, and has given me his right and title to his 
room. Don’t say no, but let his mantle fall on me ; I want to 
be a second Larry.” 

“ Why, then, God bless me, but you’re entirely welcome. 
Though why should you speak of Larry, as if he had gone and 
we should never lay eyes on him again ?” 

Mrs. Morrison was a picture of excited astonishment as she 
asked the question, and she added, tremblingly : 

What is the boy up to ; has any harm happened him ?” 

Berkely glanced round hastily, colored, and seemed vexed with 
himself. 

No, no,” he said quickly. “ Certainly not ; he is perfectly 
well ; nothing but my anxiety that you should not refuse me, 
could pardon my giving you such an impression.” 

“Well, God be thanked I” said his aunt. “It’s glad I am 
there’s nothing wrong with Larry, and for myself, I’ll be proud 
to have you under the roof with me, and so will Bess, I’m sure.” 

Bess was not there, she had left the room almost as her 
cousins entered it, and her sudden appearance now, with a lamp 
in her hand, seemed to disturb him, for he became constrained 
and preoccupied. 

“ Bess is such a house-wife, cousin Berkely,” said Nelly, “ that 
we never can induce her to sit down quietly till tea is over.” 

“ Can I do anything to assist you, dear ?” asked Kate, who 
had a stately graciousness of manner that seemed quite sufficient 
without any action whatever. 

“ Thank you ; Jenny will ring in a moment,” answered Bess. 

“Cousin,” cried Nelly, who wore little short curls, and was- 


COMING HOME. 


19 


altogether of an arcli and naive style of beauty, “ are ladies in- 
dustrious in Cliina ? But of course they are not, or they wouldn’t 
bandage their feet as they do. Well, then, be prepared to be 
astonished and entranced with our Bessie, for she is perpetual 
motion adapted to household purposes.” 

“Well, Nelly,” broke in her mother, “this I’ll say, that if 
things were left for you to do, they would be left indeed.” 

“ Yes, mother, I know that’s true, but I have my own depart- 
ment, you see. Who would attend to the gracefully ornamental 
and generally agreeable part of the establishment if I didn’t ? 
But there’s our infallible Jenny ringing the bell, and cousin 
Berkely must have an appetite, coming all the way from China 
as he does.” 

As they passed out into the hall on their way to the dining- 
room, obedient to Jenny’s summons, they encountered an old 
man with white hair, leaning on a cane, who had just entered, 
and was turning round to close the street-door after him. 

“ Sure, Berkely, it’s my old uncle Terrence Blake,” said Mrs. 
Morrison. “ You mind him well, I know ; but wait a bit till 
we see if he knows where to place you.” 

Turning, she accosted the old man, in a tone of voice that 
showed him to be very deaf indeed, with “ Uncle Terrence, dear, 
who is this I’m showing you ; did ever you see him before ?” 

He turned on being spoken to, and looked sharply at Berkely, 
who stood smiling before him. 

“ Well,” said the old man, “ it’s many a day since I saw Law- 
rence Morrison, but if he has a sou alive, sure it’s him I have by 
the hand now.” 

“ Of course, uncle,” cried Mrs. Morrison, delightedly. “ It’s 
what I told himself when I first clapped my eyes on him ; says I, 
you’re your father’s son, and you need no better recommendation 
than that to any one who ever knew him. Well, the girls are 
gone into tea and we may as well go too, and have our chat at 
the table.” 

With this, Berkely followed his aunt into the dining-room, 
which he found as comfortable and scrupulously neat as the par- 
lors they had left. A table, where spotless linen, pretty china, 
2 


20 


THE MOEEISONS. 


and inviting delicacies were temptingly arranged, stood in the 
c^itre of the room ; in one recess of the fire-place there was a 
small side-hoard, in the otlier a book-case, and between the pret- 
tily curtained windows stood a sewing table, that gave the apart- 
ment something of the air of a ladies^ sitting room. Over the 
mantle-piece was a picture of Larry, as handsome a fellow as 
need be, with a bright Irish eye, and a rich Irish complexion. 
Berkely was looking at this, and thinking how like him it was, 
when his cousin Kelly said : “ Take Larry’s place, Berkely, he 
always sits next to me. Then you’ll be near mother, and, oppo- 
site us, uncle Terrence, who will talk to you about * home,’ as 
they call the United Kingdom, till you are glad to turn to me 
for relief.” 

Berkely laughingly took the seat offered to him, and his aunt 
placing herself at the tea-board went through the ceremony of 
l)During tea. It was only a ceremony with her, for as she talked 
incessantly, her niece held the cups and checked her hand when, 
full of her theme, she would have overflowed the saucer, saw each 
one served, and dispensed the cream and sugar. 

“ There, aunt,” she said at last, “ you have waited on every 
one, and here is your own cup.” 

“ It’s none too strong, Bess dear, and I think you’d better 
steep a grain more — since Berkely’s from the tea country and 
will maybe turn up his nose at our brewing. Is it true, Berkely 
dear, that they draw it as bitter as the gall itself, and drink it 
off without ever a taste of anything to give it a flavor ?” 

“ I like it best this way, aunt, I can assure you,” said Berkely, 
and Mrs. Morrison clapped her hands, triumphantly crying : 

“ See that, now ; I knew that none of your name could fall 
into the unchristian ways of barbarians.” 

Through the open door Berkely saw the kitchen stove polish- 
ed and shining like everything else ; the dresser with its well 
scoured tins ; the white pine table and painted floor. “ Who 
can do all this,” he thought ; “ not that little minx,” as his eye 
fell on Jenny Brackett rocking violently in a sewing chair under 
cover of the unusual excitement. “ Kor my delicate-handed 
cousins,” as the young ladies, with native cordiality, pressed him 


COMING HOME. 


21 


to partnke of everytliing. “ It must be Miss Saunders who docs 
tlie Cinderella business, and wears a brown apron in consequence.” 

Of herself, this young lady possessed but little interest in his 
eyes, lier light hair and dark eyes were so new a style to him that 
he could scarcely decide whether he thought her pretty or other- 
wise ; she had spoken so little, and seemed so preoccupied whilst 
his cousins w'ere so vivacious that he would not have given her a 
thought were it not that he had undertaken a message from 
Larry to her, that was the single drop'of bitter in his cup of 
welcome. He had little time to think ; the flood gates of Mrs. 
Morrison’s recollections were opened, and a steady stream of re- 
miniscences of grandfather, great-grandfather, and aunts and un- 
cles of both sides, poured down upon him. Sometimes old Ter- 
rence Blake added another generation’s annals, and then the banks 
overflowed and almost overwhelmed him, till Kate or Nelly came 
to his rescue. 

“ There was a laboring man of the name of Tim Dougherty 
lived on your grandfather’s place, Berkely,” said uncle Terrence 
as they rose from the table. “ Did ever you hear your father 
mention him ? No I well, I’ll tell you about him when we gc 
into the parlor, for it’s a great story entirely.” 

“ No you shan’t, uncle Terry,” said Nelly, “ for cousin Berke- 
ly is going to devote himself to me till bed time. Bessie’s friends 
the Daceys, are coming to spend the evening, and we’ll review 
China while Kate does the music and Bess the conversation.” 

Passing through the hall, they lingered under the lamp a while 
to look at a little ivory plate with a drawing of some Chinese 
sea-port on it, which Kate had kept for years, hoping it was a 
view of Berkely’s place of exile. In the room they had left he 
could see Bess hurrying about clearing the table, and rearrang- 
ing the furniture, assisted by Jenny. 

‘‘No wonder she doesn’t talk,” he said, “ she is too busy to 
waste time in words.” 

“ If you have taken the notion to have Larry’s room, I sup- 
pose there’s no turning you, but Berkely dear, sure it’s at the 
top of the house, as I may say, and we have a spare room to the 
fore, which Bess thinks will be more to your liking.” So said 


THE MoRRTSOXS. 


Aforrison, lamp in liaiicl, as she invited her nephew to take 
a view of liis new apartment. 

“ Larry’s room, by all means,” returned he ; ‘‘ the spare cham- 
ber is for guests, and you remember, that was wliat I expressly 
stipulated against ; I am to be a fixture — a part of the house- 
hold you promised me.” 

Oil th.‘ first landing the old lady paused. 

“It’s a comfortable home we liave, Berkely, as you sec, and a 
grateful heart I have for it. You were but a boy when you 
went away, and knew but little of how things went. So, to ’ 
make a long story short, and let you know who we are beholden 
to, beside your own dear father, I must tell you. When the 
failing of one Bleach' Green broke your uncle Bernard, in the 
old country, nothing would do but we must all come over to 
America, where your father was able and willing to help us. 
Well, we came, and he took us under his care, and when Bernard 
closed his eyes on this world, it was with an easy heart, knowing 
that we were beyond want any way. We sent Larry olf to 
boarding school by your father’s advice, and me and the little 
girls staid together, till about six years ago, when I found out 
by chance that a half-sister of my own, who had married a Scotch- 
man of the name of Saunders, was living in America too. Pier 
husband was a merchant in Glascow when last I heard of her, 
but when I came to find out all, they had been living here for 
nearly twenty years. She was a widow and comfortably off, 
with but one child — our Bess here. Her health was failing, and 
before a year went over her head from the time I first found her, 
she was lying in the churchyard with the grass above her. It 
was a sore day for Bess when we laid her mother in the grave, 
and it was many a long month before I could see any hope of 
her living through her grief or getting over it. She was only a 
young cultie, but she took it to heart wonderfully. At last she 
seemed to rise out of it, and turned to me as a second mother. 
God knows, she’s been more than a daughter to me. This is 
her house we’re living in, and that was what I was explaining to 
you. If I was a royal queen I could not be more attended to in 
every wish, than I am by Bess Saunders. She makes everything 


COMING HOME. 


even, as slie calls it, by saying she ho.s her home witli us — but 
tliat’s just talk ; it’s little luxury or grandeur we should have if 
it were not for Bess.” 

She paused, with her hand on the lock of the front chamber, 
saying— 

“ This is the spare room, and I’m mighty pleased you’d rather 
have Larry’s, for I’ve a notion it will not be long before him and 
Bess will be nearer than cousins, and the best room isn’t too good 
for them, I’m sure. God knows,” she added, looking round with 
the lamp raised in her hand that Berkely might see the elegance 
of the spare room, “ God knows it is the wish of my heart to see 
Bess Saunders, Larry’s wife.” 

Without speaking, Berkely passed out, and Mrs. MoiTison, be- 
foregoing up stairs, paused, and pointing to the back chamber, said : 

“ That’s my own lodging room, and this one next to it, and 
over the dining-room, is Bess’s ; but come away up, for Larry 
and the girls have the upper floor to themselves. It’s a good 
big room,” slie said, when they had reached it ; “ and here is a 
little one at the side for his. boots and brushes. Larry used to 
take comfort to himself in this saih^oom, and the wonder is that 
he can keep away from us and it af long as he has.” 

“It’s a charming room, aunt,” said Berkely, at last, “and I 
am a lucky fellow to fall heir to it. Why, what a handy fellow 
Larry is, to be sure, with all these contrivances. I can’t suffi- 
ciently appreciate all I inherit until I take possession and exam- 
ine it at leisure. Let me sit down here a moment, aunt, I see 
Larry has a writing desk, and I have a letter that must be at- 
tended to. I’ll not detain you, aunt, but follow you down stairs 
in a few moments.” 

Left alone, which was what he desired, he took out the same 
letter that had occasioned his former irresolution, turned it over 
and over again, got up and closed the door, and sat down again, 
laying it before him on the table, and regarding it ruefully mean- 
time. 

“ Larry did not tell me all this,” he thought. “ He said she 
was kind, and good, and devoted to his mother, but not the helj) 
and stay of the family, as I find she is. I wish i.t were all over.” 


24 


THE MORRISONS. 


i 


CHAPTER II. 

THE LETTER. 

After a while Berkely went clown stairs and found the parlor 
full of company. The expected Daceys had arrived, and were a 
very pretty pair of young ladies with a fine looking mother ; 
there were besides another young lady, two or three gentlemen, 
one of whom was twirling round on the piano-stool preparatory 
to commence playing a waltz, as Berkely entered. His cousins 
had been talking of him evidently, for the company were ex- 
pecting him, and received his introduction with a reflection of 
the pleasure felt by his relations. Perhaps he might have pre- 
ferred a quiet evening, but he was in no mood to cavil, and 
seating himself by his aunt, looked round with delight on the 
graceful forms that began to fly by him in a waltz. 

Sure, Berkely, it^s not what I was used to myself when I 
was young, such spinning round like tops till you’re too weak and 
giddy to stand on your feet,” said Mrs. Morrison, censoriously ; 
“ but the girls is just daft about it.” 

“ It looks very pretty, aunt,” answered Berkely. “ But where 
is Miss Saunders ?” 

“ Is- it Bess ? Why there she is, fornient you on the sofa, 
talking to old Dr. Dacey. He’s a great chemist, you see, and 
Bess has a wonderful delight in drawing talk out of him.” 

Berkely was astonished ; here was a new feature in his Cin- 
derella, for the lady opposite him, with the dark eyes and light 
hair of Miss Saunders, bore no other trace of her. A dress of 
rich crimson and black brocade, made in elegant style, displayed 
the handsomest arms and shoulders he had ever seen, and she 
wore, besides, a necklace and bracelets, too brilliant, it seemed 
to him, for anything short of a court dress. Her manner had , 
cr.anged as completely as her appearance ; she was full of life and'' 
vivacity, laughed a clear loud laugh, very unlike the gen tie” 
eweetness of her cousin’s, and was so diflerent in every way, thaL] 


THE LE'rrER. 


25 


Eerkoly could do nothing but follow her with his amazed 
glance. 

By and by she left the room for a little while, and Berkely 
had just come to the conclusion that, possessed of two charac- 
ters, she put off the housewifely one with the brown apron, and 
assumed the grand lady with the brocade. When she returned * 
preceding Jenny, each carrying a tray with refreshments, Mrs , 
Morrison rose and displaced everything within reach, in the evi- 
dent persuasion that she was assisting her niece, who, on Berke- 
ly’s attempting to relieve her, said quietly, “ No, thank you,’^ 
and placed her waiter and Jenny’s on a table she had arranged 
to receive them before leaving the room. 

It must have been a matter of course for her to wait on and 
serve the guests with cake and wine, for neither of the young 
ladies attempted to interfere with or assist her in any way. One 
thing struck him particularly, that the moment Miss Saunders 
became busy she lost her gay, buoyant manner, and became so 
quietly concentrated on what she did, that there was something 
of severity in her face meantime. 

There was a young gentleman present, (it was he who had 
discovered the musical turn and played waltzes) who, on receiv- 
ing a glass of wine said, “ ’Tis not so sweet as woman’s lip, but 
ah 1 ’tis more sincere.” He had rather long hair and wore an 
eye-glass, so Berkely, having heard him remark before, “ Bid me 
discourse, I will enchant thine ear,” concluded quotations to be 
his style and stock in trade. His name was Little, an appropriate 
name, thought Berkely, when he overheard him call Miss Saun- 
ders “ Hebe,” and kneel before her, glass in hand, begging to be 
her Ganymede. Her cool “Not any, thank you, Mr. Little ; 
I would have taken some had I wished it,” together with her 
colorless face and inky black eyes, were such a contrast to his 
rosy compliments that Berkely could have laughed outright. 

The little groups that had talked to each other all the evening 
now broke up, and a general conversation on travelers and 
traveling took tlieir place, in which Berkely found himself chief 
oracle. Miss Saunders, with a mind entirely relieved from 
household cares, threw herself into discourse with eagerness, 


20 


TIIK AlOKlill^ONS. 


questioning him on all variety of subjects connected witli celestial | 
experience, and setting him right from books that he had never M 
heard of. ' 

“ What an uncomfortable young lady,” thought he ; “ she 
has read everything, while I have only seen a little.” And he 
wished devoutly that her kitchen stove might explode, or her 
kettle boil over. 

But no such thing occurred, and she had begun to talk, and 
her cousin sank into insignificance before her. She had an odd 
kind of originality about her that was half witty, half grotesque, 
and made every one laugh without the least apparent effort. 
She told so many stories that were so much more curious and 
amusing than anything Berkely had ever heard, that he began to 
feel he must have dreamt his fifteen Chinese years away in some 
obscure corner, while she had been a true and adventurous ex- 
plorer. • 

“ Still,” he thought, as his eye followed her in the midst of 
the leave-takers, who were protesting what a charming evening 
they had passed, “ still, she is not a charming girl, and her cou- 
sins are. Yes, she draws good tea, dresses splendidly, has a 
finely cultivated mind, but she isn^t agreeable. No, she is not 
agreeable ” 

She came over to the sofa where he sat. Nelly and Kate had 
run up to the front chamber to assist Miss Little in finding an 
ear-ring she had dropped in removing her bonnet ; Mrs. Morri- 
son had gone into the dining-room, and they were alone toge- 
ther. 

“ This is my opportunity,” thought Berkely, and he put his 
hand in his breast pocket, found his letter, but suddenly losing 
the power of forming his thoughts into the proper words, he 
stayed his hand and looked at her in embarrassed silence. 

“ I am heartily glad you’re going to live with us, Mr. Morri- ■ 
son ; apart from the pleasure your society will be to us, the 
thought of having you under her roof has made my aunt so 
happy that I am sure we are all obliged to you for propos- - 
iug it.” ) 

She spoke in a quiet, earnest way, and paused, looking at him | 


TIIIO LETl'KIl. 


97 


Steadily ; so Berkely thought, “ She knows I have somctliing to 
tel 4 and is waiting to hear it. It must be said sooner or later, 
why not now T’ 

He had determined to soften what he had to tell by an ex- 
planation, and had begun by, “ Miss Saunders, La.rry begged me 
to give you an account of his plans and prospects, trusting to 
your presenting them in their best light to his mother,” when her 
quick, inquiring eyes read the direction of the letter he held, and 
she took it from his hand. 

“ Do not read it yet,” he said earnestly. “ Wait till you 
have heard me for a moment ;” but her impetuous fingers had 
burst the seal, and thrown aside the envelope. The first line — 
the first words seemed to tell the story, for a strange glaring 
red shot all over her face, and dying away left it ghastly 
white. 

Slie read on for a moment more, and the glov/’ came back 
again, and with it a wild, tigerish light in her eyes ; she sprang 
up and threw the paper on the ground, and trampled it under 
her feet. 

“ Curse him, the wretch, the faithless wretch 1” she cried, in a 
voice that rage had made harsh and unnatural. In the midst 
of her transport she stopped suddenly, and shuddered from head 
to foot ; then she sat down quietly, and looked on the ground 
like a person just awakening from a trance. In great distress 
of mind, Berkely rose to leave her. She stopped him. 

“Wait a moment,” she said, in a faint, altered voice. “ Is 
there no mistake ; did Lawrence Morrison give you that for 
me ?” She pointed to the crumpled letter at her feet, but did 
not look towards it. 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ but God knows I did not understand 
its meaning when I brought it.” 

He stopped, for his aunt^s voice in the hall calling “ Bess, 
Bess dear,” filled him with pity for the figure before him, that a 
few cruel moments seemed to have turned to stone. 

“ Will you step up, Bess, darling, and see if everything is 
right in Larry’s room for Berkely ? IVe been up myself, but 
Fm no hand at fixing things, as you know.” 


28 


TUK MOKKISONS. 


Bcrkely interposed. c 

“ Oil, aunt, pray dou^t trouble Miss Saunders,” he said. “ I’m ^ 
sure everytliiug is in capital order.” ^ 

He took up something from the table beside him ; it chanced ^ 
to be a pretty shell ; and meeting his aunt by the door, turned 
her towards the light to admire it with him. Miss Saur.dcis | 
went out quietly behind them ; still he lingered, talking li-^d 
listening, hoping to tire his aunt, so that che would go dir dr/ to ; 
bed, and see her niece no more that night. 

“ Berkely, dear, sure you must be worn out for want of the ; 
sleep,” said Mrs. Morrison, yawning herself, “ and me /.eeping 
you here starved with cold, for there’s not a spark lett in the 
grate. Good night, and a good rest to you.” 

They parted at her room door, and he went up the second 
flight of steps slowly and thoughtfully, looking or. the carpet and 
tracing the figures on it till he reached the toy. There, in his 
doorway. Miss Saunders stood^ waiting for him. She drew him 
ill, and closed it. 

“ That is my cousin’s ro<. ” she said, poinfrig to the back of 
the chamber ; “ stand ho.e by the window and talk low, I want ^ 
to speak to you.” 

Her own voice was hlMr more than €. -whisper, and all her 
wild excitement had gone. She laid the lamp on a stand near 
the door, walked over to the other end of the room, and stood 
in the shadow of the curtains. Berkely followed, and took his 
place beside her, but did not look into her face. 

“ The letter I rotwi from my cousin, Lawrence Morrison, to- 
night, shocked and surprised me very much. I am not so fortu- ^ 
nate as to be able to control myself at all times, and I have to ? 
ask your pardon for not being able to do so then.” r 

She said this in a dull, monotonous way, and then paused a > 
little while. ^ 

“ There is something else to be attended to, of far more serious | 
importance than any nervous folly of mine. It is this, he is; 
about to marry a lady who is a stranger to his family ; they : 
must be told of it, and prepared in every possible way to receive 
her kindly. Will you help me to do this 


BREAKFAST. 


29 


“ Yes.” 

“ Then tell them in the parlor in the morning before they 
come to breakfast ; speak of the lady as if she were your dearest 
friend ; say all that you know and all you can think in hei 
favor, and combat all they can imagine against her.” 

“ I will ; you may rely on me, Miss Saunders.” 

“ There is something else.” 

She stopped and thought a little. 

“ Would you mind letting them suppose I hear it then for the 
first time ? It would be a favor to mo — oue I should always 
remember.” 

He looked up and met her large eyes, that watched his with 
a humble eagerness that her voice did not betray. He answered 
her with a fervor that he hoped showed how anxious he was to 
serve her, and she said, “ thank you,” and stole out of his room, 
closing the door in a noiseless way, leaving him to spend a wake- 
ful, troubled night, full of self-reproach for his own readiness to 
accept a task of whose importance he knew nothing, and anxiety 
as to the reception of what he had to tell in the morning. 


CHAPTER III. 

BREAKFAST. 

Like all ill-resting people, Berkely fell into a deep, exhausted 
sleep towards morning, from which he awoke with the startled 
impression that it must be nearly midday, and that some one had 
been endeavoring to arouse him by knocking at his door. He 
dressed hastily, and hurried down stairs to find the parlors empty 
and disarranged as he had left them the night before. He wan- 
dered from the front windows to the center table, picked up the 
books, and read the names on their covers for a little while, 
and then he began to think he had mistaken the time, and 
that his aunt was a late riser, when he heard sounds of hurrying 


THE MORRISONS. 


' 30 

and bustling about in the dining-room. By and by the door ; 
opened, and his aunt looked in. 

‘‘ Is it there you are, Berkely ? good morning to you dear,” 
she said. “ Come away in to the fire and warm yourself.” 

“ Oh, mother, pray don’t, and we’ll frighten cousin Berkely in 
this trim,” cried two demurring voices ; to which the mother 
made answer : 

“ Kever fear, girls, the cold will be worse on him than the 
sight of a couple of check aprons.” 

Oh, yes,” cried Berkely, I promise not to be alarmed, and 
the scent of the coffee and the glow of the fire are not to be re- 
sisted this sharp morning.” 

There was a little screaming and a good deal of laughing fol- 
lowing this, and Berkely found himself in the presence of his two 
cousirfs in the exceptionable ajirons tied over their pretty morn- 
ing dresses, and their large sleeves, trimmed with quilted silk, 
pinned up to their shoulders, deep in the mysteries of cooking 
breakfast. 

Mrs. Morrison and Jenny Brackett were setting the table joint- 
ly, and disagreeing as to the destination of every second dish they 
placed on it. 

“ It’s the most unlucky thing in the world, isn’t it, cousin 
Berkely ; poor Bess has been ill all night with neuralgia, and 
had to go back to her room again,” said Nelly, “ and here are 
Kate and I left with breakfast on our hands, with about as much 
knowledge of cooking as we have of navigation.” 

“Jenny,” cried Mrs. Morrison, “if you don’t let the thing.s . 
stop where I put them. I’ll cuff your ears for you. Take a seat 
by the fire, Berkely. It’s a thing that never happened before in •' 
my knowledge of Bess ; the poor thing is like a ghost this morn- 
ing for want of the sleep. Nelly, is it burning the bread or 
toasting it you are ?” ' 

“Mother,” exclaimed Nelly in desperation, “it will drive me V 
mad ; I’ve burnt my fingers a dozen times, and two more slices " 
will put me in an insane asylum. When it’s getting brown, and 
I think another minute will finish it, it turns black and shrivels | 
up in an instant, just to provoke me.” | 


ERFAKFAHT. 


31 


"There, let me help yon,’’ entreated Berkclj, "that’s some- 
thing I can do, for I’ve made toast often.” 

“ Will you ? oh, that’s so good in you. Kate set me at it be- 
cause she happens to know how to make coffee ; uncle Terry 
taught her.” 

Mrs. Morrison paused in a violent discussion with Jenny to 
exclaim, at this point : 

" Will any one tell me if your uncle has had his cup of coffee 
yet? Oh, Katie, Katie, with all your love for him you need 
Bess to keep you in mind of it.” 

" I have not forgotten it at all, mother,” said Katie ; " but it is 
not ready yet — ^it takes time to make coffee properly.” 

"Just listen to her I” said Kelly, laughing. "The air with 
which she says ‘ make coffee properly.’ Now, if she were broil- 
ing ham as I am, she might be excused for a little exultation in 
her success. Don’t look at me, Berkely, or you’ll burn the bread ; 
and, mother, please come and see why it sticks to the gridiron.” 

" Indeed, Kell, I have my own hands full with the eggs. I 
have been making an omelet after Bessie’s way, and some how I 
can’t mind how she stirs it up together.” 

" Oh, here’s Miss Bess,” exclaimed Jenny, excitedly ; " I’m so 
glad I They was getting things so crooked, Miss Bess, and just 
look at the table, and see how Miss Morrison has set the plates.” 

Some feeling which he could not name, kept Berkely from 
looking up as she entered the room, but when he heard her laugh 
a natural hearty laugh, he took courage and turned round, toast- 
ing fork in hand, to greet her. She was standing in the middle 
of the floor, looking from one to the other, still laughing as he 
did so ; but her merriment went no farther than her voice, her 
face was too white and wretched looking to be touched by it. 
She had tied a black lace scarf or veil loosely over her head, and 
her forehead was marked in red streaks by the chloroform with 
which she had bound it up, either to subdue real pain or as a 
subterfuge for her apparent wretchedness. 

"If my miserable, sleepless looking face doesn’t distress you 
all, ril come and help,” she said. " It’s dreadfully late, and 
there’s poor uncle Terry, Katie, positively roaring for his coffee.” 


32 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ I’ll take it to him now,” said Katie ; “ but do in pity see to 
Kelly, she’s dropping the ham in the ashes, and smothering us all 
with the smell.” 

In a moment or two, Berkely was the only one who had not 
resigned in favor of Bess : he kept on steadily toasting slice after 
slice, while Jenny buttered and arranged them on the plate 
Kelly, her apron discarded and sleeves unpinned, stood beside 
him, playing idly with the tassels of her gown, and commending 
his perseverance. Mrs. Morrison, after some sympathy and ex 
postulation with Bess about exerting herself, had quietly betaken 
herself to her natural employment of talking a great deal, and 
doing very little. 

“ There, Jenny ring the bell, please,” said Bess ; “ and, aunt, . 
if you will pour out the coffee. I’ll run up and bathe my head 
again.” 

Berkely had risen from his completed task, and was assisting 
Jenny in placing chairs, as she passed through the dining-room. 
She touched him lightly on the arm, and said, “ Kow,” in a whis- 
per, then hurried away, as Katie and her uncle came in, and the 
family sat down to breakfast. 

“ They tell me Bessie’s ailing, this morning,” said uncle Ter- 
rence ; “ I knew something had happened her or we wouldn’t be 
left starving till this time of day. I thought the life would lave 
me before I could get my drop of coffee.” 

“Kow, uncle, that’s unkind,” said Katie ; “ it’s only half past 
nine now, and I’m sure you were dozing when I knocked at your 
door.” 

“ It’s likely I was,” he said, “ for being wake with hunger I 
was glad to take refuge in sleep. But, Berkely, how are you ? ' 
are you famished entirely ? Kot a word of talk could we have 
last night. When Katie sets to thumping on the piano, and th 
rest get their heels going, I just take a candle in my hand am 
slip off to my own room where I can have a smoke and my book 
in peace.” 

“ Where is your room, uncle Terrence,” asked Berkely ; “ I 
couldn’t imagine where you disappeared to.” ^ 

“ Well, this I’ll say,” interposed Mrs. Morrison, “ that it’s out C, 


BREAKFAST. 


33 


of no disrespect to uncle Terry that he’s there, for it’s there he 
would be and no place else, but his lodging-room is no more nor 
less than the garret.” 

“ It’s my choice of all the house, Peggy,” returned uncle Ter- 
ry, “ so keep yourself easy about it. Sure,” he continued, turn- 
ing to Berkely, “ the smell of a pipe would entirely destroy these 
young ladies’ nerves, and there I have only to shut my door, and 
pulf away with my window open, and they never find a whiff 
of it.” 

“ Well, but that minds me of Larry,” said Mrs. Morrison ; 
“ he was the boy for the smoking, dear, dear 1 but I’ll be glad 
to clap my eyes on him.” 

‘‘ Larry,” said Berkely, who had been making and discarding 
different forms of speech in his own mind for this announcement 
ever since Bess had left the room, “ Larry is going to surprise 
you all.” 

“ How, Berkely dear,” cried his aunt, laying down her knife 
and fork, and gazing at him anxiously. “ How do you mean ? 
speak up, man dear, and don’t distract us.” 

Berkely glanced furtively round him, and took in all the eager 
eyes that were turned on his, then he said, desperately, “ By 
getting married.” 

A perfect crash of questions followed. “ How, when, who 
told you, are you jesting ? Is he coming ?” etc. Amidst which, 
his aunt, who had not spoken, laid her hand upon his arm, and 
bending her eyes on him, asked in a low voice, “ Who is she ?” 

“ A very lovely young lady ; one whom you will all admire, I 
know. An heiress, besides — think of that — with the prettiest 
name imaginable — ^Juliet Waters.” 

No one spoke. Mrs. Morrison’s face was shaded by her hand, 
and she sat perfectly still and ominously quiet ; the young ladies 
looked down into their cups in silence, and Uncle Terrence’s eyes 
were fixed on the mother. Berkely looked round in dismay, 
when his eye lighted on Jenny Brackett, in the kitchen door- 
way, the toasting fork she had been wiping in one hand, and the 
dish-towel in the other, her mouth and eyes equally wide open in 
astonishment. 


34 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ Come, come,” lie said ; “ one would think I had been telling 
you Larry was dead or ruined, instead of happy for life.’’ 

“ God be good to me,” cried Mrs. Morrison, at last, in a 
shower of tears. “ I never doubted but Larry knew the wish 
of my heart, and that it was as near to him as it was to me. 
But Bess, darling, you were too good for him, too good for 
him.” 

She said this in a broken, passionate way, and rising from 
the table, turned to leave the room, when the door opened and 
Bess met her face to face. 

‘‘ Bess, dear,” she cried out, “ Larry’s gone off to be married 
to a stranger that none of us have ever laid eyes on, and its just 
broke my heart.” With that she laid her head on Bess’s 
shoulder, and sobbed like a child. 

“ Miss Saunders,” said Berkely, “ I am most unfortunate in 
finding what I naturally supposed would be joyful tidings has 
given pain to my dear aunt ; but I positively assure you and 
my cousins, that the young lady Larry has chosen is every way 
worthy of their affection, and will soon gain it for herself, when 
they have seen her.” 

“ Larry going to be married I” exclaimed Bess. Well, it is 
hard to realize ; everything sudden is ; but I don’t see why we 
are to be grieved as well as astonished.” 

Here Nelly and Kate exchanged looks of surprise, and Nelly, 
with a flush face, said, rather angrily : 

“ Well, if you take it so coolly, Bess, it must be right, but I 
am forced to own I am astonished.” 

“ Aunt, dear aunt,” cried Bess, without glancing towards her 
cousins. “ There are few things in this world worth the tears 
you are shedding now ; don’t make Larry’s young wife the 
cause of them ; it is a bad omen for her, and Mr. Morrison says 
we will all admire her when we see her.” 

“ Oh, Bess, Bess, thank God that you can say so. You’re 
heart-whole, any way, darling, and that is something, but it’s a 
sore disappointment to me.” 

Bess led her aunt to a chair, and gently forcing her into it, 
knelt beside her for a moment, with her arms around her and 


BREAKFAST. 


35 


hoT head upon lior bosojn. It was oii.]y for a moment, for wbf'n 
Mrs. Morrison would liavo held her there, she broke away and 
fell to laug-hing’. 

“ I declare,” she cried, “ it’s enough to tempt me to turn nun 
instead of getting married— just through fear of one’s sister-in- 
law. I never saw Nell or Kate look savage before. Remem- 
ber, girls, you’ll have to be reviewed by your husband’s families 
and make the ordeal as light as possible for poor Miss Waters.” 

“ Bess,” said Kate, reprovingly, “ one would think you per- 
fectly heartless, to hear you. Of course, you are m^t Larry’s sis- 
ter, and cannot be expected to feel as we do ; still, J should 
think your knowledge of life would teach you the unpleasantness 
of having a perfect stranger take a place in your home, and 
make you accommodate yourself to her.” 

“ Larry will never bring his wife to live here ; we shall all be 
spared that.” 

Bess said this in a tone that made Berkely’s heart jump, and 
old Terrence Blake spoke for the first time. 

What age was Larry when he left for New York, Peggy ?” 
he asked. 

“ Larry was six-and-twenty on his last birthday,” said Mrs. 
Morrison, wiping her eyes. 

“ Is it truth you’re telling me 1 Well, by all that’s wonder- 
ful, I would have thought the boy was in petticoats by the hilli- 
bullo you’re raising. Here’s Nelly, not twenty yet, has had her 
mind on a lad this year past, and Katie’s just waiting to take 
her pick of the best. But Larry, the slip of a boy, musn’t look 
at a girl till he’s been home and made his manners to you all, 
and said may I ? and will you please to let me ? Tut — I su])- 
l)ose he asked the young woman herself, and thought that was 
plenty.” 

“Thank you. Uncle Terry, for Larry’s sake,” cried Berkely 
shaking hands with the old man heartily. “ That’s just what I 
meant to say. It’s very hard to blame Larry unheard, and when 
you see Mrs. Larry you will not blame him at all. Her family 
is excellent, and she is a highly educated and refined lady. 
Larry would have written from the first, but hoped to COittC 


36 


THE MOKKISONS. 


home from time to time. Even now he will not fix liis wedding 
day till he lias heard, from you. He hopes, with your permission, 
to bring his wife here on a visit, and is all impatience to re- 
ceive it.” 

There was a little silence ; then Kate said : 

“ He means to live in Kew York, then ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; Mr. Waters has bought and furnished a beautiful 
house for them ; as I told you, Larry is going to marry an 
heiress, and an only child, but she is the gentlest and most un- 
assuming one I ever saw.” 

“ Larry^s a lucky fellow,” cried Bess, gaily, “ and there’s 
nothing left to be done, since breakfast is cold, and no one seems 
inclined to finish it, but for aunt to write a kind, assuring letter 
to Larry, telling him we are prepared to love his wife like good 
sisters and cousins.” 

Every one rose from the table, and after a little lingering 
about the dining-room, went away, Mrs. Morrison to her own 
room, to consider her letter, and the young ladies to review the 
affair privately. Uncle Terrence offered to accompany Berkely 
to the hotel, and see about his luggage. While the old man 
went to fetch his hat and cane, and Berkely stood by the window 
looking into the street, Bess came into the parlor and fell to 
work busily rearranging it. Seeing him standing there, she gave 
him her hand and said ; 

Thank you for what you have done ; talk with my cousins 
of Miss W aters whenever you can ; I think I can manage my 
aunt.” 

With that she began to busy herself again, and it seemed to 
Berkely so hard to leave her working away with her dreary 
looking face and hopeless eyes, that he paused on the door sill 
and asked : 

“ Is it necessary, absolutely necessary, that you should do 
this ? You are not well enough.” 

She interrupted him — “ It is the best thing I can do, and I 
like it ; be sure of that,” she said, and smiled after him as ho 
went away. 

One scene of her play is done,” he thought. “ She is a 


CNCLE TKERY. 37 

good actress ; but ” — as lie recalled her entreaty to keep her 
earlier knowledge a secret — “ but she had to learn her part ” 


CHAPTER lY. 


“ UNCLE TERRY.” 

“ Poor Bess,” said Uncle Terrence to Berkely, as they walked 
on together, “ Poor Bess, she’ll have her hands full now, for our 
folk have a curious way of being staggered by every bit of news 
past doing a hand’s turn.” 

“ I can scarcely see the necessity for all the drudgery she 
does,” said Berkely. “ She is a sensible young lady, and must 
have her reasons for it, or I should think it a whim.” 

“ Well, now,” said the old man, “ though Bess is no favorite 
of mine, I think she has right on her side. She’s fond of show 
and company, and if she had a servant and a servant’s waste, it’s 
little of either she could afford. Eorbye that, if she hired one 
girl, she would have to hire three, one apiece to wait on the 
young ladies. Sure it’s nothing but her doing everything her- 
self, with what help she can wring out of Jenny, that keeps them 
in heart to do the little they do. They were but weans when 
they left old Ireland, but they brought the spirit of its gentry 
with them. Faith 1 they understand taking their ease, and sure 
their mother’s a noble example to them at that same.” 

“ Uncle Terrence,” said Berkely, who had begun to feel an in- 
definable curiosity in everything concerning her, “ you said Miss 
Saunders was no favorite of yours. May I ask you why ?” 

“ Well, you may, Berkely ; but that’s not saying that Pll tell 
you” — the old fellow laughed to himself a while, and then con- 
tinued. “ The truth- is the truth, and it’s just this, my boy. I 
was speaking of my niece’s, Peggy Morrison’s weakness. Well,, 
it didn’t begin in her branch of the family, for I have a touch of 
it myself. I like to take my comfort quietly as well as the rest, 


38 


'J'llS MORliTSONS. 


and some way Bess Saunders is a constant reproacli to me and 
keeps me reasoning with myself from morning till night. ‘ Ter- 
rence Blake/ says I, ‘ youTe an old grey headed crature now, and 
you need ease and rest. Whenever you’ve gone out of your way, 
and made an effort to do anything, ill luck has fallen on you, and 
that’s God’s truth, so now take your pipe in your mouth and 
your book in your hand and leave the rest to the Lord that cares 
for the sparrows and the young ravens.’ It’s beautiful Christian 
doctrine ; but when I sec that lassie flying from one thing to an- 
other, from day dawn till sunset, I take no peace or comfort 
in it.” 

“ And that’s why you like my cousin Kate best. She is all 
repose and dignity.” 

“ Yes ; if there is a hair’s differ between the three, I think 
Kate is the laziest, and I naturally take to her. But there’s rea- 
son in all things, Berkely, I am a great hand for reason ; luck 
first, says I, and then reason — so don’t misjudge me. 

‘'I was bred a doctor, as you know, but having a little pro- 
perty left me, says I to myself, ‘ Terrence Blake, what have you 
against the world that you should turn to doctoring ? enjoy what 
you have, and leave God’s creatures at peace,’ says I. But, no ; 
my father wouldn’t have me settle down in what he called an 
idle life, so on board a ship I went as assistant surgeon, no less. 
And what came of it ? There was no luck in it, and I took a 
fever myself, and came home without a hair on my head. Then 
I listened to nature, and settled myself in peace once more, but 
your uncle Bernard would drive me into a speculation with him, 
and my heart was just broke, driving from place to place buying 
up flax that was to be the making of us all. I never rightly un- 
derstood the gain that was to come from it, but I felt the loss, 
for it all fell through someway, and everything I had, but the 
place my father left me, went with it. When your father sent 
for your uncle Bernard to come to America, I left too, for the 
house seemed empty without Peggy and the children. I sold the 
bit of land I held, and with the exception of a bad turn I had in 
railroad stocks, here I have been at my ease ever since. It’s 
some men’s luck to work, Berkely, and I always thought labor a 


UNCLE TEREY. 39 

noble thing, but it goes against me in every way, and thank God, 
he has given me the natural instinct to avoid it.” 

“ I ought to write to Larry,” said Berkely, after a pause. 
“Do you think I may promise him a kiud reception? You 
know my aunt better thau I do ; is it she or my cousins I shall 
have to conciliate most ?” 

“ It’s all settled,” said his uncle, assuringly ; “ give yourself 
no further thought about it. Poor Peggy felt what she said, 
but the girls were just playing off their airs. His mother had 
laid Larry out for Bess, and sure I thought myself it was all set- 
tled between them. But Katie and Kelly are mighty tickled to 
tliink things are as they are. Larry’s not the boy to let his wife 
be a slave for any one but himself. So there would be a cliange 
in the kitchen, you see, and though the dear creatures don’t 
trouble themselves thinking or contriving for the future in a 
general way, this is a fact that comes home to them, both plain 
and easy.” 

“ Well, well,” said Berkely, “ I’m heartily glad that my com- 
ing among them as Larry’s ambassador, will not be fatal to the 
family peace, as I feared it would this morning. And now, 
Uncle Terry, as a man who has always been unfortunate in your 
own speculations, I want you to give me your advice in a busi- 
ness way.” 

“ Is it too much cash you have, Berkely, that you come to me 
for help to lose it ? Faith you couldn’t have spoke to a better 
man. It’s more than a talent, it’s a genius I have at the same, 
judging by the way I’ve stripped myself of everything I ever had, 
except a bare penny to keep body and soul together.” 

“ Uncle Terry, did you ever know an Irishman or an Irish- 
man’s son that didn’t have faith in luck ? Why should I be an 
exception to my name . and race ? And you know the old saying 
about no luck for yourself but luck to give away. So you may 
as well bestow yours on me as another. I am going to buy pro 
perty, and lead the lazy life of a landlord.” 

“ And have you given up your business entirely ?” 

“ Entirely,” returned Berkely. “ When in settling my affairs, 
which was what detained me in New York, I closed my last 


40 


THE MOKEISONS. 


ledger, I swore uever to open one on my own account again as - 
long as I lived ” 

“ And wliat puts buying property into your head asked his : 
uncle. 

“ I don^t know exactly. I have some money, as you may 
naturally suppose, after all these years of devotion to business. 

must do something with it, and that seems as good an invest- 
ment in a quiet way as any other.” 

“ May be you’re right. It’s not a thing I would do myself, 
if I was rolling in gold, for I would have to rent it, you see, and 
the poor unfortunate creature who lodged in it, would be burned 
in his bed and sacrificed entirely to my own black luck,” said 
Uncle Terry, shaking his head dubiously. 

“ Still you’ll give me the benefit of your advice, promise me 
that,” said Berkely, as they entered the hotel together. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Uncle Terry, “for he’d be a fool, man, that 
couldn’t guide another better than he can go himself.” 

Berkely w^as kept so busy all the morning attending to the 
transfer of his trunks, and the unpacking of some cases of Chinese 
goods that he had brought as gifts to his aunt and cousins, that 
fearing he had missed the dinner horn’, he prevailed on Uncle 
Terry to remain and dine with him at the hotel. Going home 
late in the afternoon, he found no one in the parlors or hall, and 
w^ent to Larry’s former apartment, which he found a labyrinth 
of trunks and boxes. He had thrown off his coat preparatory 
to commencing their proper arrangement, when some one tapped 
at his door. It was his aunt, with a little of the morning’s trouble 
still left about her eyes, and an unfolded letter in her hand. 

“ Why didn’t you come home to your dinner, Berkely ?” she 
asked. “ Sure we waited for you till the things weren’t w^orth 
the eating. You’ve got your hands full, I see” — she looked 
round on the baggage — “and I’ll not be stopping now to hinder 
you.” 

She moved towmrds the door, but Berkely stayed her. 

“ Don’t go, aunt, pray don’t go,” he said. “ I’d rather talk 
to you than do anything else, and as this is my owm room, you 
know, these things can wait my convenience.” 




UNCLE TERRY. 


41 


“ Well,” she answered, seating herself on the end of a trunk, 
and still holding the letter in her hand, “ you see Bess has been 
talking to me, and she has proved to me that my duty as Larry^s 
mother, and my^own selfish views, are two diflorent things. I 
can’t explain it to you rightly now, but she has incensed me into 
it entirely. My wanting to bring him and her together, was just 
the worst thing ever I thought of, and she gives me to under- 
stand that it was only the Lord’s mercy kept him from falling 
into the trap I laid for him, which would be the ruin of us all.” 

Mrs. Morrison sighed and shook her head. God forgive 
me,” she said. “ I suppose it’s my perverse nature, but when I’m 
out of her sight, I can’t see it that way at all at all.” 

“ And so you have written to Larry,” said Berkely, recalling 
her to what ho knew she wished to say to him. “Of course you 
will send some kind message to Miss Waters.” 

“ To tell you the truth, Berkely, it was that I came to speak 
about,” replied his aunt. “You see, Bess was with me when! 
wrote this, and it’s small comfort I had ; crossing out every 
second line, for fear I should let slip a word that spoke my mind 
to Larry — the deceiving limb — but when I came to make my 
respects to the young lady, off she went to the kitchen, and 
leaves me to finish it myself. If she had left me with Larry to 
settle, it’s little trouble it would be to me,” said Mrs. Morrison, 
her resignation fast disappearing. “ Oh that I should ever rear 
a child to go again my heart’s wishes, as this black rogue has 
done,” she added, entirely breaking down. 

“ Miss Waters is a very gentle, affectionate girl,” said Berkely, 
who in desperation had hit upon the plan of appearing uncon- 
scious of the change in his aunt, “ and will be a loving daughter 
to you, I am sure. She is shy and sensitive, and I would sug- 
gest that Kate and Kelly should write too. Remember she is 
coming among strangers, and needs consideration.” 

“ Is it strangers, Berkely,”. cried his aunt, irascibly ; “ and 
what is she but a stranger herself, and a stranger she would 
remain, if I had the ordering of things.” 

A knock at his door at this moment was an infinite relief to 
Berkely, who, never having had any family experiences, was at 


42 


THE MOKRISONS. 


a disadvantage with his aunt. When he opened it, he found 
Miss Saunders waiting to be let in with her arms and hands so 
full tliat she must certainly have indicated her presence by but- 
ting the door with her head. 

“ Let me help you I” he said, trying to relieve her of part of 
the things she carried, but she laughingly begged him to clear a 
table for service, as she had arranged her load artistically, and 
if he took away one thing, the rest would inevitably fall. First, 
she laid down a pair of large, old-fashioned silver candlesticks, 
carved and highly polished — a pretty China match-safe, a tray 
for glasses, and a water pitcher, and some clean towels were 
among the rest. 

“ The lazy man’s burden, Bess,” said Mrs. Morrison, smiling 
pleasantly, her former annoyance entirely gone. 

“ You know I’m not lazy, aunt, and I’ll appeal to Mr. Mor- 
rison to prove it. See this little room that Larry used to stow 
full of books and papers. Jenny and I have put it in excellent 
order for a dressing-room, or, as you must have gathered some 
odd things in your travels, why not make it a museum ?” 

“ That’s a capital idea,” exclaimed Berkely. “ It has a door 
opening into the hall, and we’ll make it a household affair, and 
you’ll all assist me to unpack — won’t you ?” 

“ Yes,” said Bess, eagerly, “ that I will — let us do it this 
evening, after tea.” 

“ Bess,” said her aunt, “ if it’s employment you’re looking 
after, here is this letter to Larry, that ought to be in the office 
now, and if you would think of a suitable word or two in regard 
to the young lady, I would close it immediately.” 

“ No one can do that but yourself, aunt ; and pray 'do it at 
once. Come, I’ll go to your room with you, and fold and direct 
it, so that Uncle Terry can take it before tea.” So saying, Bess 
put the things she had brought in their places, aiid hurried her 
aunt away to linish tiic letter. 

“ She tried to spare herself the pain of greeting Larry’s bride,” 
thought Berkely. “ I wisii I coul-d have helped her. There is 
a hard path l)(‘fore Iter, and she looks to constant labor or ex- 
citeincni to carry her tlirouirii.” 


UNCLE TERP.Y. 


43 


Eeiiig alone, he fell to work indnstrionslj, and before tea was 
ready, he had wrought himself into quite a glow of pride and 
pleasure in his new quarters. He had unpacked everytliing ex- 
cept the case of presents, and seated on that, he looked around 
him with great satisfaction. Larry’s books he had put into one 
of his empty boxes, and his own tilled their place ; he had hung 
his pictures on the walls, placed a pretty lacquered looking atfair 
that was half secretary, half writing table, in one corner, and a 
great bamboo reading chair, that could be extended into a couch, 
at its side. His mantel-piece was embellished with innumerable 
curiously-shaped vases, and two immense octagonal jars stood 
one each side the hearth. 

“ Have you been rubbing a wonderful lamp, Berkely ?” asked 
Uncle Terry, as he stood in the door-way. 

“ Yes, I knocked,” he answered, in reply to Berkely’s look of 
surprise, “ but you were lost in the contemplation of your pos- 
sessions, and didn’t hear me.” 

“ The pride of proprietorship,” said Berkely, laughing ; “ you 
will excuse it, I hope. Do you know. Uncle Terry, that I am 
in such a rapturous state about' finding a home at last, that I’m 
afraid I’ll make a fool of myself in some ridiculous way before 
my aunt and cousins. So I sit here trying to get used to it.” 

“ Talking of ridiculous things,” said Uncle Terry. “ You 
mind what you were saying about buying property, this morning ? 
Well, I heard by chance of a bit that’s to be sold. It belongs 
to a doctor here ; he’s one of the first in the jdace, and it’s in a 
joart of the town that’s improving, so you may as well venture 
on that as anything else.” 

“ Thank you for thinking of it ; he’s to be seen at his oCBce, I 
snj)pose. Oh, that’s his card. Well, I’ll call on him to-morrow. 
And now, uncle, if the ladies are at leisure. I’ll open this box 
there are some shawls and work-boxes in it that I want theu 
opinions about.” 

“ Well, that I may never sin,” cried the old man, laughing ; 
“ if it’s presents you mean, it’s, a lucky time they’ve come in ; 
sifice there’s nothing soothes the rufiled feelings of this family 
like a little attention in that way. I’ll say this for them, it’s not 


THE MORRISONS. 


u 

tlie worth of what tliey get, for they’ll go into tlie same tantrum H 
over a bit of ribbon as they will over a silk gown. Many’s the 9 
time I’ve saved myself from a storm that was hanging over me, 9 
for walking into the parlor before company with a pipe in my A 
mouth, or some such heathenish act, by taking a new book or a I 
lace handkerchief out of my pocket just as they were ready to fly A 
at me.” ■ 

“I’m glad of it,” said Berkely ; “gifts are meant to give A 
pleasure, and it is a delightful quality in any one to be pleased A 
with them. I hope something I can do will counterbalance the 1 
annoyance I gave them this morning.” 1 

“ It’s that I mean, Berkely ; their feelings are so big, you 1 
see, that they have no room for more than one at a time ; so ; 
this morning’s wrath against Larry and Jiis wife will be quenched ' 
entirely in their delight with the Chinese goods. Sure, when 
they see the bottom of that box, they’ll be ready to embrace > 
them both.” 

“ My aunt, too — will she be so easily propitiated ?” 

“ Faith will she ; and why not ?” 

“ And Miss Saunders ?” 

“Is it Bess? Well, no,” said Uncle Terry, slowly; “the .1,' 
Irish is not so strong in her. There’s just Scotch enough about | 
her to keep you uneasy. I don’t know, mind you,” he added, 1 
“ but I wouldn’t- wonder a bit, if in spite of her earnestness in ' 
Larry’s favor this morning, her heart was worse set against what ' 
he’s doing than any one of them.” 

Jenny Brackett at this moment began to perform an energetic 
peal on the tea bell directly at Berkely’s door ; and Uncle 
Terry, between whom and this young handmaiden there existed " 
a feud, broke off to lay violent hands upon her. 

“Stop, Jenny, you ill-starred imp,” he cried. “Leave off ' 
clashing and clanging, and put the power of your elbow into 
scouring the pots in the kitchen.” 

“ Miss Bess told me to take the bell, and to go and to ring 
till you heard me ; and I’m a going to go and tell her that ’ 
you’re blaming me for doing what I was told to do.” 

“ Do you mind that, now ; she’s going to tell Bess. Oh, ^ 


BERKELY S ROOM. 


45 


slices a born villain, and it^s part of her deviltry to let bn she 
thinks me deafer than I am, and divert herself roaring at me, or 
thundering away at the bell as she did just now. But come 
away down to supper, Berkely ; the poor lass is none too well ; 
she’s been hard at it all day, and we won’t keep her waiting.” 


CHAPTER y. 
berkely’s room. 

“ Oh, yes ; we shall be all alone this evening ; let ns spend 
it in Cousin Berkely’s room • there’s a fire there, Bess, isn’t 
there ? And Uncle- Terry’ll make some negus, and we’ll have 
some of Bess’s gingernuts. Why, it will be a kind of house 
warming for Berkely. What a capital idea, isn’t it ?” 

So cried Nelly, clapping her hands in answer to Berkely’s en- 
treaty that they would all step into his apartment and give them 
his opinion of its new aspect. 

“ Thank you, Nelly, for proposing it — that will be delightful,” 
said he. “ And I shan’t compound for a moment less than the 
whole evening, so we’ll give Miss Saunders a quarter of an hour’s 
grace, and all go up together.” 

They had been having a laughing controversy on the subject 
of ringlets, wherein Uncle Terry had threatened to unfold 
Nelly’s secret for getting up hers. Kate, secure in her own 
glossy bands, had urged this disclosure, while Nelly had de- 
fended it by holding her hand over Uncle Terry’s mouth, 
and much spluttering and scuffling ensued. Berkely, laughing 
at his merry cousin, leant back in his chair, his eyes meanwhile 
observing Bess. She had talked gaily until Nelly and her uncle 
absorbed the attention, when she rested her arms on the table 
and let her head fall into her hands ; he could not see her face, 
but she clasped her head tightly as if in great pain, and seemed 
to forget hciself until it was [)ropoded to juiss the evening above 


46 


THE MOREISONS. 


I 


stair?, ’when she sprang up and began hurriedly to clear away i 
the tea things. 

Show me the broom, if you please, Jenny, and Pll see and 
brush out this floor, while youh’e hel{)ing away with the dishes,’^ 
said uncle Terry. “ Katie dear, sit down in the easy chair while 


you’re waiting. Bess looks pale and faint, so a little exercise i 


over the kitchen stove ’ll be the making of her.” 


“ You’re talking mighty strange, uncle Terry,” said Mrs. Mor- 
rison ; “ Bess has had enough of the stove with baking and clean- 
ing to-day, and it’s her you should be persuading to sit down, ] 
and not Katie, who has practiced the same till it comes natural 
and easy to her.” 

“See that, now, Peggy,” laughed the old man, “no one but 
yourself would have thought of the like.” 

“ Now, Uncle Terry, don’t be satirical,” said Nelly, trying to 
pull the broom away from him. “ Mother, he wants to put 
Katie and mo to the blush because we’re lazy.” 

“ I’ve been in many a fool scheme in my time, but none as wild 
as that, Nelly clear,” said Uncle Terry ; and with an injured air 
his niece dropped the contested broom and began to pout. 

“ You say everything disagreeable you can think of, I do be- 
lieve, Uncle Terry. What will cousin Berkely think of us ?” said 
she pettislily. 

“ Sure, he’ll never mind an old man’s tongue while he has his 
own good eyes to guide him. So never fear.” 

Katie smiled at this pleasantry, but took no further notice of 
the contest, which grew warmer every moment. She was talk- 
ing to Berkely of the changes he had seen in the city ; how new 
streets had sprung up and old ones disappeared ; how he had 
looked in vain that morning for buildings that he remembered, 
fiiuling them replaced by more imposing structures. She was an 
easy, graceful talker, and excelled particularly in commonplaces, 
i laving a sustained sweetness of manner that higher flights oi 
thought might ruffle. 

Bess had taken the fallen broom and put the room to rights, 
while her cousin was still busy trying to convince her mother and 
uncle of her natural industry. 


bkckkly’s room. 


47 


“ Now I declare, Bess,” she cried, when she observed this, 
“that’s too bad, why didn’t you wait a moment, I meant to do 
it myself, you know I did.” 

“ Sure she knows you meant it, and took your meaning, which 
is what I do myself when I want you to do a turn for me.” 

“ Cousin Berkely,” cried Nelly, as the old man said this, “please 
don’t let Uncle Terry come into your room to-night ; I’ll make 
the negus myself.” 

“ I’m going up this minute to light the candles,” replied Uncle 
Terry. “ I’m going to assist Berkely in doing the honors, and 
if you don’t make friends with me now, it’s yourself will find the 
door shut on you.” 

After extending his hand in a stately manner once or twice, 
and being as often refused, he at last succeeded in coaxing Nelly 
into a laugh, when they went up stairs together, followed by 
Mrs. ^forrison, Katie, and Berkely. 

“Where is Bess ?” asked Mrs. Morrison. “ She has been up 
here lighting the candles, I see.” 

“ Of course she has,” said Uncle Terry ; “ Nelly and I had a 
little squabble on purpose to give her a chance. Never heed her, 
Peggy, she’ll be up here this minute, but look at Berkely’s easy 
chair ; see here, you can lengthen it out and make a bed of it, 
no less.” 

“ Well, if ever I saw the like 1” cried Mrs. Morrison, admir- 
ingly, “ it’s wonderful ; and look at the wood it’s made of — like 
sally rods winding through each other.” 

“ Oh, Katie, do look at these curious vases ; and see these 
queer fans. Bless me I see the lanterns, and these fire screens. 
Why, it isn’t Larry’s old room at all, is it ? Even the carpet 
has a Chinese look about it.” 

“ Cousin Berkely, it’s quite delightful to see all these odd 
things,” said the calmer Katie, but Nelly interrupted her by cry- 
ing out — 

“ If he hasn’t got another box full there I do see. It’s the 
Arabian Nights, I declare it is ; and here comes Bess, looking 
as grand as the tragic Muse.” 

“ Well, Nelly, if you have any wit, you don’t trouble folk 


48 


THE MOEKISONS. 


showing it to them/’ said her mother. “ I wa.s looking for yon, 
Hess,” she continued. “ Hasn’t Berkcly made an entire wonder 
of his room ?” 

“ Why, it’s charming,” said Bess, laughing. 

She had a black silk dress, and a rich lace jacket of the same 
color, over it, with loose flowing sleeves. Her face had the dead- 
ly white hue it had worn all day, and she certainly looked tragic 
enough as Nelly saw her in the doorway. Her voice and man- 
ner, however, were all comedy ; she ran from one thing to anoth- 
er full of surprise and admiration ; and when, at last, the united 
efforts of Berkely and Uncle Terry removed the cover of the un- 
explored box, she and Nelly dropped, Turk-fashion, on the car- 
pet beside it, with open-eyed anticipation of its wonders. 

“ All that is here,” said Berkely, pausing in a bashful con- 
fused sort of way, “ I brought with me as gifts to you, my dear 
aunt and cousins.” He bowed towards Miss Saunders as if beg- 
ging permission to include her. “ If you will only take them 
with a little of the feelings with which I give them, you will 
make me very proud and happy indeed.” Saying this, he began 
vigorously to rip up the packing cloth from the top, and Mrs. 
Morrison considered it a good opportunity to wipe the tears out 
of her eyes. 

“ Berkely dear,” she exclainled, “ it goes to my heart to think 
of you remembering us, and you far enough away among heath- 
ens, and if it is the value of a pin, or gold itself, it’s alike wel- 
come after that.” 

“ It’s truth you’re saying, Peggy,” murmured Uncle Terry in a 
low tone ; “ it’s truth, and I bear witness to it.” 

Oh, what is that ?” cried Katie, really excited. “ A shawl I 
a magniflcent crape shawl I” . 

“ Beautiful,” “ exquisite,” etc., etc., echoed on all sides. 

“ There are three of them white, and here is a scarlet one for 
Miss Saunders. You like the color, do you not?” Berkely 
asked. 

A bright flush of pleasure lit up her face ; she sprung up and 
threw it around her shoulders. 

“ I do, indeed 1 it’s glorious I” she cried. “ Put. yours on, 


jjekkicly’s eoom. 49 

Xclly, till I see it. [t^s elegant, perfectly elegant, bnt mine is 
Rpleii(ii<l.’’ 

“ Wlio ever tliouglit to see Bess daft about something to wear,” 
exclaimed Uncle Terry, holding up his hands in mock amazement. 

“ Whoever saw me have anything so grand to go daft about, 
before,” she answered, as Nelly and she passed each other in a 
parade up and down the chamber for the full display of their ac- 
quisitions. 

Katie stood before the glass arrayed in hers, in speechless ad- 
miration at her own reflection, while her mother sat weighing 
hers in her hands, and feeling the embroidery between her finger 
and thumb, utterly at a loss for adjectives. 

“ Here are some fans,” said Berkely ; “ and there are satin 
aprons ; the colors of the embroidery are startling — they are 
more curious than elegant.” 

“One at a time, cousin,” screamed Nelly; “I haven’t oh’d 
half enough over the fans before you bring on the aprons. Did 
any one ever see such carving as there is on this ivory ? White 
fans and white shawls, why, we’re all as bride-like as possible, 
except Bess, who is holding hers like a dagger, and looks like 
Lady Macbeth in an opera cloak.” 

“ There’s nothing tragic in an apron,” said Bess, “ so I’ll put 
on mine. What is this embroidered on it, a cockatoo or a bird 
of paradise ? It’s gorgeous — absolutely gorgeous I one in each 
corner, only think, Nell ; yours has only a bunch of red and yel- 
low roses.” 

Nelly made a critical comparison with her cousin, and then 
begged an exchange, which Bess declined. 

“ It’s the birds,” she explained ; “ I always wanted to see a 
bird of pariidise, and now I have two of my own. They’re beau- 
tiful, superb, elegant ; go away, Nell, I wouldn’t consider your 
proposal for a moment.” 

“ Cousin Berkely, didn’t you mean it for me ?” cried Nelly 
“ Bess, you are a mean thing ; you saw the bird’s tail and yo 
grabbed it.” 

“ Really,” said Katie, “ one can scarcely tell which to admire 
most, your slang, Nelly, or Bess’s hyperbole.” 


50 


TIIK MOiailSONS. 


Why, Katie, I haven’t begun yet ; I think their wings and 
tails bewihleriugly bewitching, and I consider their plnniage at 
once gorgeously graceful and exquisitely elegant.” 

“ Leave olf fashing, Bess, and see this,” cried her aunt. “ It’s 
a work-box — a complete work-box ; Berkely tells me the folk in 
China made it, and he has just taken the breath from me with 
surprise ; sure, I thought them the wildest barbarians, with, sav 
ing your presence, scarcely wit enough to keep themselves de 
ccntly covered.” 

“ Oh, they are very ingenious, I assure you,” said Berkely ; 

and they wear clothes too,” he added, laughing. “ Here are 
some of their silks ; not very elegant, you see, in color or tex- 
ture ; simply valuable as specimens of their manufacture.” 

“ Why, I think they are very pretty,” said Katie, examining 
them. “ This is a very nice piece of scarlet ; the yellow is not 
so good a shade.” 

“ But they’ll do grandly for tableaux, won’t they, Bess ?” ex- 
claimed Nelly. 

“To be sure they will, and we’ll get up some when Larry 
brings his wife home. They’ll be here in a week or two, about 
Christmas time, I suppose, and it will be quite appropriate. 
Don’t you think so, Bess ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Bess, taking her work-box to the light to 
examine it. 

Uncle Terry touched Berkely and smiled. “ It’s all right, you 
see,” he whispered. 

“ Here are some quaint little vases, that Nelly will like, I 
know, she has quite a taste that way ; and here is a package for 
yon, aunt, which empties the box,” said Berkely, giving it into 
Uncle Terry’s hands to open. 

Nelly sprang up from the carpet, where she had been arrang 
ing her gifts as if about to open a bazaar. 

“ Cousin,” she cried. “ The vases are not distributed yet, let 
me have my choice Shan’t I ? Let me see — there are six ; a 
pair for each of us. Mother has that great parcel uncle is un- 
doing, and ought to be content.” 

“ 1 like this pair best,” said Katie, selecting two. 


BERKI'LY'S ROOM. 


61 


“ Put iliem back, Kate — put them back. You shan’t come 
any such game. Bess did me out of my apron with the cockatoo 
on it ; but, you see, Pve learnt wisdom.” 

“ Kelly,” said Katie, laying down the articles in question with 
a look of disgust, “ you shock me. I wouldn’t be unlady-like 
enough to use such terms for the world.” 

Nelly laughed with all her might. “Excuse me, Cousin 
Berkely,” she said ; “ Katie would not be unlady-like, but she 
would have taken the prettiest pair of vases if I hadn’t fright- 
ened her, and made her lay them down.” 

“ Well, that I may never sin, but that’s a beautiful sight. 
Will you just look at it, Bess ? I * never saw the equal of it 
since I was born into the world I” 

So cried Mrs. Morrison over the contents of the case Uncle 
Terry had unfastened for her. It displayed a miniature set of 
transparent china, curiously shaped and beautifully painted in 
strange devices ; it was packed in a box made with apertures to 
contain the different articles, and was altogether a very rare and 
pretty affair. It formed the culminating point in the family ad- 
miration ; they gathered together over it, and went into rap- 
tui’es. Every piece was separately examined, Mrs. Morrison 
watching breathlessly all the while lest it were broken. The 
shape, the painting, and particularly the ease with which you 
could see the liglit through it, were all commented on, and Un- 
cle Terry and Berkely had cleared away the box and packings 
of different kinds, long before the theme was exhausted. 

“ What are you going to do with the table, Berkely ?” asked 
Nelly, as he wheeled it into the middle of the room. 

“ I’m preparing to entertain my guests, of course,” he return- 
ed ; “ but I shall need some assistance. Will you help me ?” 

“ To be sure I will, if it’s anything I can do.” 

“ Well, first tell me what to put these things into,” he said, 
producing from the little inner room two blue china jars, filled 
with sweetmeats. 

“ Bless me !” cried Nelly, “ Chinese preserves I Something 
to pjit them in ? Certainly, it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Bess, come here a moment, please, and tell me what dish to get.” 

4 


52 


THE MOUEISONS. 


Bess held np her hands in admiration. 

“ What a treat we shall have,” she cried, “ Look, aunt and 
Katie ; preserves, dates, candied fruits, uncle’s negus and my 
gingernuts.” 

“ It will be delightful ; only the table’s too small. Is there 
no other ?” asked Katie. 

“ This is a card-table,” said Bess, “ and you can open the 
leaves in this way. Turn it round, please, Mr. Morrison.” 

As he did so, and was about to unfold it, Kelly exclaimed : 

“ Stop a moment, please ; I want to see.” 

She had spied something in a corner of the drawer the table 
formed. 

“ Yes, it is,” she cried ; “ a gold miniature in a leather case ; 
it’s wedged tight. Pull it out, Katie ; it must be Larry’s ; he 
used to keep papers here. How romantic ! — an adventure, 
really.” ^ 

Bess was standing before Berkely, showing him how to unfold 
the table. He looked at her for an instant, and then snatched 
the picture from Katie’s hand. 

“ Forgive me,” he said ; “ but I really cannot let you see it. 
A woman’s miniature has something sacred about it, and can 
only be meant for one eye to look on.” He was excited, and his 
face flushed as he spoke. 

‘‘ But, Cousin Berkely,” s^^Nelly, “ why should you warm up 
60 about Larry’s affairs ? He is my brother, and I don’t see any 
reason why, as his sister, I should not demand to see it — as I do 
now,” she added wilfully, holding out her hand for it. 

If Berkely’s face was flushed before, it became scarlet now. 

“ The picture is not Larry’s,” he said j “ it is mine. It repre- 
Bents a lady whom I honor with all my heart. I was very care- 
less in leaving it there, and you will excuse me now when I put 
it in a safer place.” 

With that he thrust it in his bosom, and seizing the table-, 
cloth, which Mrs. Morrison held, spread it in a triangular way, 
and began to set the things upon it vehemently. 

Nelly stood surprised a moment, and then burst out laughing.- 

“ We’ve had a scene — positively a scene !” she cried. “ For*; 


BERKELY S ROOM. 


63 


give me, Cousin Berkely ; and Bess, do look how he’s dashing 
the plates on the crooked cloth.” 

Bess came to the rescue, and joined her cousin in laughing, 
while Mrs Morrison and Katie regarded them both with amazed 
gravity. 

“ Well, lassies,” said she at last, “ you must know more nor 
Katie or I, if you see any joke. Sure I thought it was war be 
tween Berkely and you to the knife, over that bit of a leather 
bag, and Bess thought the same, I’m sure, for all she’s laughing 
now. She looked as if her heart was in her mouth.” 

“ Here’s Uncle Terry with the negus ; shall I place the chairs, 
Cousin Berkely,” asked Katie. 

‘' Faith, Katie,” said Uncle Terry, nodding approvingly as he 
placed the bowl on the table, “ it’s a safe offer ; Berkely has 
them set round while you’re speaking, and here’s a nice easy one 
fornint me for you, darling.” 

“ What a delightful family party,” cried Berkely, rubbing his 
hands in satisfaction. “ How charming to set at a round table, 
with neither head nor foot.” 

“ Berkely,” said his aunt, laying her hand on his, “ it’s but the 
second night you’ve been under the roof with us, still you’re that 
near to our hearts, that we feel as if you’d been born and bred 
here. Show me a cup of the negus. Uncle Terry. It’s many a 
day since I gave a toast, but I’ll give you one the night, and 
you’ll all join me, I know.” 

Uncle Terry filled the glasses and rose ; all followed his ex- 
ample. Mrs. Morrison touched her glass to Berkely’s. 

“ Here’s to the good son of a good father,” she said. “ May 
the home he has come to, and that proud to claim him, always 
return him the happiness he brought to it — and I pray that as 
he has filled an empty place in our hearts, he may never find one 
in his own.” 

Emj^tying her glass, Mrs. Morrison laid it down, and taking 
Berkely’s hand, drew him towards her, and kissed him fervently. 
Berkely, his face all aglow, and his eyes full of earnest feeling, 
began to speak, but said nothing ; he looked round a moment, 
then dropped into his scat and burst mto tears. 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ I knew I sliould do it,” he said, in a minute or two, “ I 
knew I should do it ; I won’t ask you to forgive me, for after 
all you will understand it, perhaps, as well as anything I could 
say.” 

The evening wore on cheerfully ; there were no more tears, 
but much laughter and many kind speeches. After tasting the 
candied fruits and preserves, and sipping a little negus, the young 
ladies discovered an irresistible inclination to recur to the shawls ; 
and a turn of the conversation, taking Uncle Terry to the “town 
of Derry,” where he was born ; he dragged Berkely within the 
walled enclosure of that city, and held him prisoner, there guarded 
by Mrs. Morrison, as sentinel, who, at the hiintest hope of re- 
lease, came, in with “ You mind the fair on Midsummer day, 
uncle?” or, “Tell Berkely about Shamus O’Riley or, “Tim 
Dougherty’s mare,” etc., and made his bonds doubly secure. 

Under cover of this, Nelly and Katie took their shawls from 
the boxes, examined, compared them, and viewed them in dif- 
ferent lights ; but Bess sat listening, or seeming to listen, her 
eyes fixed on the speakers and her chin resting in her hands, till 
it grew so late that even Mrs. Morrison was tired talking, and 
said — 

“ We must bid your cousin good night, children, or we’ll never 
be invited in again. Uncle Terry, there will be no rising you in 
the morning, if you don’t go away up to your bed now.” 

Nelly had packed her things ready for transfer, and recom- 
mended her plan. 

“ Just set your work-box on your shawl-box, girls,” she said, 
“ and then yon can pile up the rest in pyramid style.” 

‘^'No, no,” cried Berkely, springing forward, “ pnay let me 
carry these things down for you.” 

“ No,” said Nelly, with affected seriousness, “ I’d rather .not 
trust such an irascible person with such precious things. If that 
miniature had not been in a leather case, I’m sure you would 
have broken it, dragging it away from me as you did.” 

She laughed merrily and shook her curls at him, to remind 
him of the warmth he had shown ; but hastened to add : 

“ I’m in fmi, Cousin Berkely ; our room is just next to yours 


bekkely’s room. 


55 


nere — it^s but a step — and you’d better help Bess, who goes dowu 
to the next landing.” 

But Bess was busy gathering up the plates and glasses on a 
tray and wishing the crumbs off tho carpet into a dust-pan. 

“ 0 Bess dear, don’t fash yourself ; the bit of dirt we’ve made 
will never break Berkely’s rest, and the whole morrow’s be- 
fore ye.” 

Mrs. Morrison urged this view of the case on her niece more 
as a customary demur against her briskness than as a speech 
with hopeful results, for, bidding Berkely good night, she retired, 
shaking her head and murmuring : 

“ She’s that set agin leaving things through other, that I be- 
lieve in my heart she’ll rise up in her coffin and clear up afther 
her wake.” 

“ Please, leave your door open a few moments more, Mr. 
Morrison,” said Bess, as her cousins disappeared with their gifts, 
and her aunt followed. Uncle Terry bearing her trophies below 
stairs. 

“ Miss Saunders,” protested Berkely, “ I really will not see 
you take that tray down stairs. We won’t waste words about 
it, for I’ll take it, willy nilly.” 

Without more ado he possessed himself of her burden, and she 
was fain to content herself with the light. 

“ Just put it on the dining-table. I’ll be stirring early and ar- 
range it before breakfast,” she said, leaning over the baluster, 
with the light held so that it would shine in the dining-room 
door. 

“ And now,” said Berkely, as he ascended the stairs, ‘‘ I’ll 
bring your parcels down. You’re tired and need rest ; don’t 
come up, please.” 

•She was weary-looking certainly, but rest did not seem so at- 
tractive to her as Berkely supposed, for, coming down laden, he 
found her pacing the little hall as if its quiet was distasteful to 
her. Her face was white and haggard, and she turned her sad 
eyes upon him drearily. 

“ You are very kind to me, Mr. Morrison,” she said, with an 
effort to regain her old smile, “ very, very kind to me.” 


56 


THE MOERISONS. 


She opened the door, and standing in the th rcsbold, took the ^ 
parcels one by one from him. The last was plfvced on the dress- 
ing-table, and he had turned to go, but paused and held out his 
hand to say good night. 

Bess gave him hers, and something slipped into it ; something 
that she stood holding, as he had left her, cold and motionless, 
long after the echo of his departing footsteps had died away. 

In the grate a bright fire glowed and burned cheerily. Slit 
roused herself and went towards it at last, and as the blaze sho< 
up clear and distinct it reflected a strange, resentful light in hei 
eyes. With the poker she broke the burning logs into a bed of 
coals and threw upon them the trinket Berkely gave her. In a 
moment the leather cover shrivelled into tinder, and a tiny bright 
face, fair and happy, looked up and moclted her with a smile 
She could not bear its glance, so she gathered the fire about it 
and beat it down among the embers with remorseless bitterness, 
as if she longed to destroy every memory that bound her to the 
deceitful dream from which she had awakened. 


CHAPTER VI. 

DOCTOR WINDELL. 

“Dr. Windell, No. 30, East Grove St.,” read Berkely, con- 
sulting the card Uncle Terry had given him. 

“ East Grove Street, doesn’t that branch off here on the other 
side of the Park ?” he asked of the old gentleman with whom ■ 
he had been strolling here and there for the past hour or two. ; 

“ Yes ; and as your road’s straight before ye. I’ll just say good y 
morning and be off about a little business of my own.” 1 

“ Business, Uncle Terry I” echoed Berkely. “ Why, I thought 1 
you regarded the very word with aversion.” 1 

Uncle Terry gave Berkely one of his whimsical smiles. f 

“ It’s not what a commercial person like yourself would call a I 


DR. WINDELL. 


57 


strictly business matter I’m going to attend to ; but, you see, 
I’m fond of a good story, the longer the better, if it’s full of 
mysterious trouble. I take it with my pipe in the afternoon, and 
I come back to myself and the quiet peace of Burleigh Place, 
from some ould bandit’s cave or subterranean dungeon at the 
sound of Jenny’s tea-bell. Faith, if there’s harm in such divai\ 
sion, I’m sorry for it, since it’s*mate and drink to me.” 

“ Then it’s to look for a book you’re going now, uncle,” said 
Berkely. “Why not see if I have nothing in tha,t way to suit 
you ? They’re not arranged yet, I know, but they’re unpacked 
and put on the shelves in a sort of way.” 

“ You’re both kind and obliging, and I’m beholden to you, 
Berkely ; but you must know that I have what our young ladies 
arc pleased to call a barbarous taste ; so it’s little hope I’d have 
of finding my books on your shelves. No ; I have an acquaint- 
ance below here that has a wonderful collection, and when he 
meets with one that looks as if the young crayture it’s written 
about just fairly got off with the skin of her teeth from a heart- 
less father, or pirates and robbers, he just lays it by till I happen 
in. If you’ll make your way up to my bower some day, ye may 
read the names of some of my favorites, as beyond the names 
you’ll never go, for sure ye’re young enough to have a story in 
your own life, and not be driven like me to seek for one in an old 
tatiered yellow leaved book.” 

Berkely laughed, and the old man hurried briskly away, lest 
his friend of the book-stall might be tempted to dispose of some 
legendary treasure in his absence. 

East Grove Street was a sort of crescent, bounding a small 
park in the northern part of the city ; the centre house in tho 
row was larger and of more pretentious appearance than the 
rest, and had a wide hall with windows on either side. Those at 
he right of the entrance were furnished with office blinds and 
adorned with a small narrow sign bearing Dr. Windell’s name, 
and the word “ office ” immediately below it. 

In answer to Berkely’s ring, a man-servant opened the door 
and ushered him into a front parlor, half office, half library, and con- 
nected by folding-doors with another room of similar appearance. 


58 


THE MORRISONS. 


The doors were partially closed now, and a bum of question and 
answer gave him to understand that some one within was making 
a professional visit, so taking up a journal from tlie centre-table, 
he resigned himself to await the doctor’s leisure. Ilis step upon 
tiie floor and the closing of the door evidently intimated to the 
persons inside that a stranger was within hearing, for immedi- 
ately their voices sank almost to a whisper, and in a moment or 
two the physician arose. 

“ You’ll try this,” he said aloud, apparently referring to a 
prescription he held, “ and if you find no improvement in a few 
days, let me see you again, please.” 

The answer was inaudible, and he continued : 

“ These are difficult cases, and one can only experiment with 
them. They assume all sorts of symptoms, and there is no other 
way of arriving at the cause.” 

Berkely laid aside the paper he had been glancing at, and 
stepped forward to meet the doctor ; being near the door, he 
heard the voice of the departing patient as it closed. It was a 
woman’s voice, and one he knew well. 

“ I am very grateful for the time and attention you have 
given me,” was all she said, and then her step was heard in the 
hall, and Dr. Windell stood before Berkely, bowing slightly, 
and glancing up from under his heavy brows with a keen, bright 
pair of eyes that were at once frank and penetrating, rubbed his 
hands, and waited. 

“ You have some property that you a.re willing to sell, doctor, 
[ understand,” said Berkely ; “ at least I have been told so,” he 
added, as he observed the perfectly immovable countenance of 
the doctor, that admitted uothiiTg. 

Dr. Windell was a large, dark complexioned man, of about 
forty, with a rather heavy figure, and a face that would have been 
eminently handsome, if it were not so mobile that it changed 
with his voice or remained for the moment completely expres- 
sionless, as the fancy seized him. After an instant’s survey of 
Berkely, he smiled courteously, and motioned him to sit. 

“ Why, yes,” he admitted ; “ I have the houses, and I did 
think of S(flling them, but you see tlicy are in a neighborheod 


DR. WINDELL. 


59 


improving daily, while they have rather gone down, owing to 
rough tenants. Something must be done for them, and Pm half 
incliiied to sell, half to rebuild ; so this must explain my not 
being able to speak definitely about thein.^' 

Some one tapped at the door of the inner office, and the voice 
tliat Berkely had before recognized, said : 

“ Dr. Windell, you have not given me the proper paper ; this 
is not a prescription, but a blank slip that you took up in mis- 
take.” 

li was Miss Saunders’s voice, and Berkely, stepping to the 
window, urged by an uncontrollable impulse to see her, was fur- 
ther assured that it was Bess beyond mistake, for her face was 
turned for a moment towards the physician, who had accompa- 
nied her to the door, and then she bowed and hastened down 
the steps. The doctor came back with a shrewd business face 
that made him an altered person, and plunged at once into the 
question of the property, with a very decided sense of its present 
and future value, and every apparent intention of selling it at a 
good price. Berkely Morrison had not been in training for fif- 
teen years without having gained the knowledge of how to buy 
and sdl, so, as he had looked at the property and formed his 
own idea of its worth, he met the doctor without the least disad- 
vantage, and argued realities and possibilities towards an agree- 
ment. 

‘ Do you know, Mr. Morrison,” said Dr. Windell, “ that I 
give this property up to you with pleasure, since I know your 
design concerning it ?” He said this about a half hour after their 
conference began, seated before an escritoire, with a bundle of 
open papers before him. Berkely had in a few words given him 
an idea of his former life and present prospects ; and as foremost 
among them was his desire to convert the tumble-down tene 
ments into cheap and comfortable homes for laboring people 
the doctor, who, despite liis acuteness at bargaining, was a phi- 
lanthropist, had abated something of his estimate in consequence. 

He looked up at Berkely and said, frankly : “lam glad you 
came to me to-day. I am going to New York in a few hours, 
partly on business, partly on professional interests, and we might 


60 


THE MORRISONS. 




never have met. This Myers Lane property, it has always been | 
a pet idea of mine to improve as you mean to do. I shall feel | 
w if I had been doing it myself.” . 

“ I feared from what you said when I came in, that you would 
rather not sell at all.” 

“ Ah, yes, to be sure ; well, it may have been the interest I 
felt in a young patient who was just consulting me, that made it 
difficult to come at once to business.” He wheeled round in the 
office chair he sat on, and presented a deed to Berkely, who, feel- 
ing that his interest in the patient thus casually alluded to might 
mark his face, hastily placed it between him and the doctor, as 
he looked it over. 

“ The person you speak of was not dangerously ill, I hope, or 
it would scarcely have been possible to have consulted you here,” 
lie ventured to say. 

The doctor was looking over a file of notes for one referring 
to the matter of Myers Lane, and answered a little absently : 

“ Oh, no, there is never any bodily danger in diseased nerves ; 
this young lady has received a sudden shock from the death of 
some friend, as far as I can gather. It’s a curious case, but it 
will yield to time — it will yield to time.” 

You prescribe for mental pain, then,” said Berkely. “ I 
(jee you gave her an order for medicine.” 

Dr. Windell smiled as he put away the useless papers. 

“ There’s not much in that,” he said ; “ it does no harm, and 
it’s something to think about and look upon with hope, which is' 
a great deal for one who feels as she does. There are all the 
titles and papers, Mr. Morrison ; you can examine them at your 
leisure. I’ll be back again in two or three days, and will then 
attend to the transfer.” 

“ It was too much for her, poor girl,” thought Berkely, as ho 
slowly crossed the square from the doctor’s house. “ Too much 
fur her, and she thought there might be a drug or an herb that 
Would help her to forget ; poor girl, poor girl I” 


ADDIE WEST. 


61 


CHAPTER VII. 

ADDIE WEST. 

In this mood he walked homewards, and stood upon the door- 
Bteps, waiting abstractedly, without having rung to announce liis 
presence. 

Nell opened the door, laughing. “ It would be undervaluing 
your thoughts to offer a penny for them. Cousin Berkely j they 
must be actually gigantic.’^ 

“ Why do you think so. Cousin Nell ?” Berkely asked, se- 
riously. “ To tell you the truth, I was in the delightful state 
of the ‘Jolly Young Waterman,^ when he rowed along thinking 
of nothing at all.” 

“ Well,” said Nell, “ you did look like an ‘innocent,’ as mother 
says, as you stood waiting ' solemnly for some one to open the 
door without making the least effort to let us know you were 
there. If I hadn’t seen you from the window, you would have 
stood a poor chance with the coming storm.” 

“ Then there is a storm coming up,” said Berkely, as he en- 
tered the parlor. 

Mrs. Morrison sat in her easy chair, near the grate, and Katie 
knelt before her with a silk reel in her hand. Katie’s smooth 
brow was not as clear and sunny as usual ; she was undergoing 
one of the great trials of her life, winding skeins of silk off her 
mother’s unreliable hands. 

It would have been difficult for Berkely to have accounted 
for the way in which his pretty cousin used the quantity of silk 
he had seen her wind already ; but with a general impression of 
observing her twist it round the point of a crooked needle con- 
stantly, he set her down in his own mind as a manufacturer of 
that trashy kind of stuff called fancy work. Mrs. Morrison was 
. the only one that Katie could enlist into her service. Nelly re- 
belled against holding silk at the outset, Bess was too busy, 
Jenny Brackett was not always presentable, and Uncle Terrj 


G2 


THE MOERISONS. 


pooli-poolied at the idea. Her mother had been aggravatingly 
given to gestures from the first, but this day was a crowning 
sheaf in her list of distractions. She turned to Berkely tlie 
instant he entered, and with her pinioned hands indicated through 
the windows the gathering wintry storm, and otherwise gesticu- 
lated until Katie, from falling back hopelessly and regarding her 
with bitter reproach, broke forth into actual rebuke. 

“ Mother,” she said, “ I just want you to know the trouble 
you give me ; Pve broken this silk eleven times at separate and 
distinct knots, needlessly made by your jerking about. It seem;) 
to me that there’s a principle involved in everything, and you 
deliberately outrage this.” 

“ See that, now !” exclaimed Mrs. Morrison, wrathfully ; “ if 
you say another word. I’ll throw the whole thing up to ye ; 
indeed, I’m astonished at my patieuec in being fashed with it as 
long as I have.” 

Katie looked round appealingly. “ Fashed,” she repeated ; 
“ I will let any one be the judge, if it isn’t I who have been 
fashed.” 

“ Then you’ll be fashed by me no more,” said her mother, 
rising with dignity. 

Berkely stepi)ed forward. 

“ Please resign your office to me, aunt,” he said ; “ I shall 
have so many spare hours to bore you with at home here, that 
you’ll have to contrive me some occupation in self-defence.” 

Katie looked up gratefully. “ Really, Berkely, you’ve no 
idea how disobliging some people are till you ask a service of 
them ; and what I’ve endured in this family on this subject I can- 
not express to you.” 

But Nelly laughed immoderately, and seemed really more 
amused at the incident than there was any apparent reason 
for. 

“ Poor Berkely,” she said, soothingly ; “ you have thrown 
aside your liberty forever. You are about to wear what the 
poets call viewless chains, and henceforward enter that abject 
and miserable slavery of skein-holding.” 

“ Mother,” said Katie, who had entirely recovered her smooth 


ADDIE Wr.ST. 


63 


siniliTi^ dignity, “ don’t l)c nnnoyod at me ; I dare say I was irn- 
tmtient, it is rather perplexing, yon know.” 

Mrs. ^Slorrison liad retired to the window and was looking out 
into the street, where a faint fall of snow was whisked about by 
a strong wind, so that it rather circled through the air than fell 
steadily. 

I’m not bothering myself about you one way or another, 
Katie,” she replied, “ but I’m just thinking if any of you minded 
what Bess said about a dress-maker. You’re striving to leave 
things to the last, as you always do, and give her a hurry when 
Larry and his wife’s at the very door.” 

“ Mother, how can you ?” and Katie looked reproachfully at 
her parent ; but Mrs. Morrison was in no awe of her daughter’s 
eyes, and went on to say, pointedly, 

“Well, now, that’s all folly ; Berkely ’ll not live here long 
till he knows that you wear out your frocks and get new ones. 
Sure, I sometimes think it’s all you take in hand from the one 
year’s end to the other, and whatever you’re to get new may as 
well be got now as again, on account of the new-comer.” 

“ Where is Miss Saunders, may I ask ?” Berkely looked up 
from his silk upon which he had kept his eyes warily from the 
first, to prevent trouble. Mrs. Morrison answered him : 

“ She’s ill a great way about some waffles we’re to have for 
tea. I don’t know if you ever had them out in your foreign 
})lnce, but they’re a nice light cake, and with plenty of sweet 
fresh butter on tliem, would tempt anybody to eat.” 

“ No,” said Berkely, considering gravely, “I don’t thiiik we 
ever had any in Canton.” 

“ It’s Bess’s way,” said Nelly, looking up from her worsted 
lamp mat that had never progressed beyond the nose of an 
indescribable poodle. “ Why she persists in it I don’t know, but 
sl'.e never teaches Jenny Brackett to do anything of the kind. 
Tiiough if she did it would be a great deal pleasanter for us all.” 

“ There’s them that’s bigger than Jenny Brackett that won’t 
bt* taught,” said a voice at the door. It was Uncle Terry’s, and 
he came forward yawning and stretching himself. 

“ llave you been sleeping, uncle ?’’ asked Katie. 


64 


THE MORHISONS. 


No, lassie ; I’ve been traveling. I’ve been in Spain, no less.” 

“ What’s that you’re saying, Uncle Terry?” asked Mrs. Morri 
son sharply. “ It’s many a long year and day since you were 
abroad, and I never mind bearing you mention Spain at all.” 

“ Oh, it’s just a way folk have of talking, Peggy, when they 
have idle fancies and indulge them. It’s the sin of my life, that 
and laziness together.” 

“ By what particular craft did you sail this afternoon ?” asked 
Nell. “ You must know, Berkely,” she added, “ that uncle al 
ways travels via some dog’s-eared old novel, that exploded from 
every library but his own, fifty years ago.” 

“ I had the foreway of you. Miss Nell,” said Uncle Terry, snap- 
ping his fingers at her ; “I told Berkely myself, and you give 
him no news when you say that. What good would I take out 
of them stories Katie and you delight in ? Sure, they’re no 
more and no less nor your own ways and your own doings over 
and over again. What are your modern heroines, as you call 
them, but lilies of the field like yourselves, with a lover more or 
less, or may be a saycret grief aiting up their young lives, as they 
say. I never knew one of you to be troubled in that way ; but 
sure, there’s no variety in them at all.” 

“ Tea’s waitin’,” remarked Jenny Brackett sententiously, put- 
ting her head in the parlor door ; then withdrawing it, she be- 
gan to ring her bell vigorously. With an alacrity surprising at 
his time of life, old Terrence Blake sprang out upon her and cap- 
tured it while she was still in full force. Katie released Berke- 
ly ’s hands, and Nell laid down her frame. 

“ We must not be a minute late,” said Mrs. Morrison, “ for 
you see the hot cakes have took up Bess’s whole afternoon, and 
if we let them get cold it would destroy her patience.” 

As they all crowded out into the hall in haste to reach the 
dining-room and prevent the loss of Bess’s temper, Berkely could 
not help wondering whether he had been mistaken in her face 
and voice at Dr. Windell’s. He was half inclined to think .he 
must have fancied a resemblance, for there was neither pain or 
care in the bright flushed face that .greeted them in the dining- 
room. 


[ ADDIE WEST. 65 

“ The waffles are light, I’m confident, Bess,” said Nelly as she 
took her seat. 

“Wait until you have tried them, Nell,” said her cousin. 

“ Oh, I don’t need to ; your face is a cook’s dial. T^on’t . 
mean to say anything disagreeable ; and, now that I think of it, 
it’s rather a compliment to imply that your countenance is so very 
expressive that one can even tell by it whether the victuals rise 
well and don’t burn in cooking.” 

“ A far fetched one, Nelly ; but these cakes are light, so you 
are right this time. Aunt, that’s coffee you’re pouring out for 
hot water. I should have told you before, but I made it think- 
ing it better with the waffles.” 

“ And so it is, sure enough. Look at Uncle Terry — his eyes 
sparkle at the mention of it. But what will I do with these two 
cups ? they’re partly one thing and partly the other, Jenny, you 
young heart-break, why don’t you bring me a slop-bowl ?” 

“ Take my place a moment, aunt, and I’ll help you,” said Bess. 
She poured the coffee while her aunt, relieved of care, described 
to Bcrkely the effort it had cost her to learn to eat corn-bread 
and the love she still felt for oat meal bannocks. 

Berkely followed her attentively, but his eyes were fixed on 
Bess, whose apparently unaffected delight in the success of her 
cookery filled him with astonishment. 

“ She neither feels nor suffers as I have thought,” he said to 
himself ; “it was a light fancy and she has conquered it.” 

. Mrs. Morrison had exhausted the cake question and now turn- 
ed to Bess. 

“ I have been telling the girls that they have little enough 
time to see about a dress-maker ; but it’s just with this as it is 
with everything, they’ll not stir a foot till the last minute.” 

“Now, mother, just to set your mind at rest. I’ll positively go 
to that Addie West’s, that worked for us last winter. Miss 
Parrish has gone to New York, so there’s no hope of her ; and 
Addie suited you very well, didn’t she, Katie ?” 

“No, I cannot say she did ; she left us with those jackets half 
done, and, besides, no one but Larry knew where she lived ; it 
was he who took our messages, you know.” 


60 


THE MOERTSONS. 


TJiiclc Terry leant 1)ack in liis chair. 

“ Acidic AVest,” lie rejieated : “ is that the name of that 
neat looking girl you had here after Christmas, last year ?” 

“ It’s the name of the girl who sewed for us ; but what do 
you know about her, uncle asked Nell, surprised. 

“Just this, that she’ll not be likely to sew for you again in a 
hurry. Why, girls dear, there’s not a one among you that’s as 
fine as she was, when I met her a week or two ago. The grand- 
est lady in the land couldn’t be more decked out ; and when she 
saw me, some way or another she slunk off on the other side of 
the way, as if she felt ashamed of her splendor.” 

“ Is it Addie West ?” said Mrs. Morrison ; “ well, there’s lit- 
tle shame in the girl, and I’m set against her doing a stroke Oi 
work in this house, if she was ever so able and willing. I have 
my eyes, and can see bravely with them too, and I always knew 
what she’d come to.” 

“ And what has she come to, Peggy, woman?” asked Uncle 
Torry, while the young ladies looked discreetly into their cups. 

“ Play acting, no less,” briefly responded Mrs. Morrison, with 
an em})hasis that showed in her opinion it was impossible to say 
more. 

“ Wliy, mother, how can you know about it ? Pm sure you 
never saw her play,” said Nelly in astonishment. 

“True for ye, I never did. I wasn’t brought to frequent 
such heathenish diversions ; but Jenny Brackett’s brother Bob 
told her a month ago that he was at the tlieayter, and who should 
he see come in, decked out in velvet and jewels like the queen of 
Sheby, but Addie West. He knew her the minute he clapt his 
eyes on her, for you know she was here when he used to be com- 
ing back’ard and for’ard ; but he says she don’t take her own 
name at all, at all, but some high sounding nonsense, which is the 
way with them all, I hear, and well it may be, when they dis- 
grace the one they, were born with.” 

“ Did Bob say she was a good actress, Jenny ?” asked Nelly, 
showing a reprehensible interest in the fallen dress-maker, that 
scandal ized her virtuously indignant mother. 

“ Bob said he never know’d she was so splendid before,” said 


ADDIK WEST. 


67 


Jenny, gladly volunteering information. “ She was all drcst ele- 
gant, and made believe to be a forring queen, and stamped her 
foot at the lords and nobles jest like a real severing.’’ 

“ She would do that, I warrant lier,” said j\Irs. Morrison. 
“ Do you mind the night we were all setting here, and Larry 
came in to say he was going out for the evening ? the door liadn’^ 
closed on him till she jumpt up and declared it was late.” 

Bess rose. 

“ Come, Jenny, and help me to get some more hot coffee. You 
are letting your cups get cold as you talk,” she said to the fami- 
ly, as she carried out the pot to replenish it. 

Jenny was evidently loathe to leave, and lingered till her mis- 
tress’s voice sharply commanded her to come. 

“ Well, as I was telling you,” continued Mrs. Morrison, “Ad- 
die up and on with her bonnet, and never said by your leave or 
may I ; but Katie was going off to a great party the next night, 
and so she told her she must stay till the trimming was stitched, 
because she didn’t understand the way of it hci’sclf. if it had 
been tearing the hair out of her head, Addie couldn’t have taken 
it worse, and she actually staggered us all with the tragic airs 
she put on about her rights ; and in spite of all the girls could 
say or do, went off to the minute.” 

“ Mr. Morrison, please let me give you some coffee ; you’ll 
find this better, I think,” said Bess, returning. 

As Berkely leant forward to take his cup from her hand, he 
became conscious of the smell of ether for an instant ; he glanced 
up surprised, but suddenly remembered Dr. Windell’s prescrip- 
tion. 

“ It was she, sure enough,” he thought ; “ and she went out 
to take some at the mention of Larry’s name.” 

“ Did you ever know anything so odd ?” said Nell, whose mind 
evidently ran on the glimpse of histrionic glory Bob Brackett had 
given the family. “ Here were we having Addie West sew for 
us for months without an idea that we were employing an aspir- 
ant for future fame, a sort of Mrs. Siddons, may-be. Dear me I 
it’s quite wonderful, isn’t it ?” 

“ May-be, Peggy, we could get a place there for Ncll/^ said 

.5 


68 


THE MOHR I SONS. 


Uncle Terry, looking slyly out of the corner of his eye nt that 
young lady. “ She might be trained into being of use in a small 
way ; she’s a way of tossing her head and clipping her words, 
that might’ make something of her yet, who knows ? If we could 
only get Addie for old acquaintance sake to speak a word for 
her,” he added meditatively. 

“ Now, Terrence Blake,” said Mrs. Morrison, witli indignation 
kindling in her eye, “a joke’s a joke, but if you would even men- 
tion to a child of mine such outrageous doings, I think I’ll take 
leave of my senses. Why, I have heard tell that they’re dressed 
out in gauze and spangles, and none too much of that either, and 
that they kick and fling liker monkeys nor Christians, and think 
no more of standing on their heads nor we do of being on our 
feet.” 

Appalled at the vision she had conjured up, Mrs. Morrison 
looked around her in terror. 

Katie,” she cried, “ sure Nell and you know well enough 
where the end of such things is. Your grandfather on your fa- 
ther’s side was a Covenanting minister ; and I had two bro- 
thers curates in the Church of England ; all belonging to you 
come of a good stock, and sooner than you should live to 
disgrace them I’d see you carried to your graves with dry 
eyes.” 

Nell jumped up from her seat at Berkely’s side, and ran round 
to her mother. 

“ Why, mother dear,” she said, hugging her energetically, “do 
you think because Uncle Terry makes himself silly, that I’m go- 
ing to turn out a vagabond ? It’s all your own fault too, you 
would begin worrying about a dress-maker, and that set us to 
talking of Addie West.” 

Having pulled her mother’s cap off, and nearly choked her as 
an evidence of her rectitude, Nelly went back to her seat, and 
Bess quietly repaired the damage. She had not spoken at all 
during the talk of Addie West’s apostacy. Now she asked : 

“ Do you like my cakes, Mr. Morrison ? Aunt said you would 
not, because she had to learn to eat them with dusted sugar and 
cinnamon.” 


ADDIE WEST. 


89 


“You take a pride in these tilings, do you not?” he asked her 
Dy way of answer. 

“ I suppose I da,” she replied simply. “ I think, perhaps, it ^ 
is my nature to overdo anything I attempt.’’ 

She was smoothing her aunt’s hair as she spoke, and finding 
the bows loose on the side of her cap, she added : 

“ Remind me to fix this to-night when I get through with 
clearing the table, won’t yon, aunt ?” 

“ Do it now, and I’ll help Jeiuiy, Bess and, to prove her 
words, Nell, with vltrong determination marked in her counten- 
ance, rose up and began bustling about. 

“ I’ll not leave this till I see Nell at work,” said Uncle Terry, 
taking Katie’s sewing chair by the window ; “ I’m looking for 
nothing less than a convulsion of nature to mark the event.” 

“ Mother, speak to Uncle Terry about teasing me ; I think 
it’s shameful,” cried Nelly from the kitchen. 

“ Oh, uncle, let the lass alone, when she’s doing no harm,” said 
her mother, smiling as she reproved the old man. “ Bess, what 
do you say to our all sitting in here ? it’s cosier than the big 
parlors, and on stormy nights folk feel more comfortable in small 
rooms.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Bess heartily ; “ but, Nell, do sit down ; 
why should you bother ? Jenny and I will be done in a few 
minutes.” 

Jenny, however, was of opinion that aid was not to be de- 
spised, so when Nell resisted Bess, she came to her rescue, and 
told her what to do, where to carry the things, and how to place 
them. Under the auspices of this young damsel, Nelly, to do her 
justice, made a speedy clearance of the table, accompanied by a 
good deal of clatter among the dishes, and some slight breakage, 
whereat Uncle Terry appeared to rejoice greatly. 

“ You’re flying in the face of Providence when you touch 
work, Nell,” he said, laughing ; “ it hasn’t given you the wit to 
do it, you see.” 

Nell, who was wiping a platter, instantly laid it down and 
made a hasty descent on him. 

“ I’m going to pinch you, I am, truly. Uncle Terry j you do 


ro 


THE MOliiaSONS. 


your best to prevent my ever doing anything good or useful ; 
you’re a sort of white-headed Mephistophiles, you really are.” 

Berkely’s hands were imprisoned iu silk. •Nelly’s prediction 
was in a fair way to be fulfilled, for Katie had claimed his ser- 
vices as soon as it was decided they should spend the evening in 
the dining-room. He chafed inwardly at the restraint now, for 
he saw that Nelly’s exertions were over for the evening, she and 
her uncle were dictating terms to each other, but the old man 
held her hands pinioned behind her, having thus rather the ad- 
vantage. Mrs. Morrison laughed immoderately, as she always 
did at Uncle Terry’s pleasantries ; and Katie was absorbed in 
winding what seemed to Berkely a skein without an end, and no 
one noticed how pale Bess Saunders had become, or how her 
hands trembled as she bent to brush up the crumbs that had fall- 
en in Nell’s removing the cloth. 

“ Miss Saunders, pray don’t attempt to move that table ; wait 
a moment,” and to Katie’s consternation, Berkely threw the silk 
in her lap, and, springing past her, seized the dining-table from 
Bess’s hands and pushed it over into the corner of the room, 
where he saw she meant it to go. 

Now, Bess, sit down, will you, before you fall down ; you’re 
not like yourself to-night at all, and I’m sure it’s the scorching 
you got over the kitchen fire cooking the cakes. It would suit 
us all better if we learned to save you trouble instead of giving 
it to you.” 

Mrs. Morrison arose and made a pretense of putting the chairs 
to rights ; took up and laid down several things, and continued 
to beseech her niece to rest. Bess declared roundly that she had 
never felt less tired in her life, and rallied the instant she found 
herself observed. But, strive as she would, it was impossible for 
her now that she was seated quietly at the renovating of her 
aunt’s cap, to look free from care or at ease. Nelly having 
wrestled herself weary, sat down beside her and directed the 
placing of the bows. 

“ Don’t heed Nell, Bess ; she knows no more about cap making 
than the child unborn. She can coggle up leaves and flowers for 
her own head bravely, but for a woman of my years she hasn’t 


ADDIE WEST. 71 

the knack. I’d bo a laughing stock if I’d put on the things she 
and Katie advise me to.” 

“ How can you say so, mother ? I think it really unkind ; 
and here Katie and I have been the whole day arranging a head 
dress for you to meet Larry’s wife in. It’s nearly done, and looks 
lovely, don’t it, Kate ?” 

Katie assented, but said her sister had promised not to men- 
tion it till it was complete. She was rather out of temper with 
Berkely for tossing her silk, but as anger with her was only au 
accession of dignity, she displayed no frowns, and simply reproved 
Kelly for indiscretion. 

“We’d have to try it on, any how, you know,” said Kell, in 
defence of her confidence. “ Shan’t I bring it down ?” 

“ Well, I suppose you may as well, now that you’ve mentioned 
.it,” Katie said, and her sister flew up stairs without waiting for 
further parley. 

It was a very pretty head-dress when produced ; made in a 
much more modern style than Mrs. Morrison’s usually were, and 
shaped more like a turban than an ordinary cap. 

The first glance at it threw their mother into a state of con- 
sternation. 

“ I’ll never let such a looking contrivance near my head,” she 
averred solemnly. “ Sure, it’s fitter for a Cannibal queen than 
a Christian widow. That I may never sin,” sh^ added, breath- 
lessly, “ but they have got a wreath of posies on it as if it was 
for the Queen of May.” 

“ I told you so,” said Katie, resignedly. “ I said, *Kell, it’s 
useless to attempt inducing mother to put on anything but those 
close old pokey things, bound under her chin as if she were a 
mummy.’ ” 

“ You may call me anything you like after expecting me to 
put on them fal-lals.” 

“ Bess didn’t make it, that’s the whole secret,” said Katie, 
smiling with an expression of injured sweetness. “Of course we 
never could expect to do anything that would equal Bess’s 
taste.” 

“ I never could have arranged anything half so pretty,” said 


THE MOEEISONS. 


n 

Bess frankly, and she took up the cap and regarded it with ad- 
miration. 

“ Is it the flowers you object to, aunt ? They are very beau- 
tiful, but I think Katie can arrange it just as nicely with this 
lilac gauze ribbon in loose bows — look — in this way. What 
do you think V* 

“ I think it^would make all the change in life,” said Mrs. Mor- 
rison, convinced at once. “ It’s the flowers, as you say, Bess, and 
I wonder at the girls, I do, for their want of wit.” 

Kelly fell in with her cousin’s suggestion, though still she de- 
clared the flowers were prettier ; but Katie, though she neither 
frowned nor looked provoked, declined to meddle with the bow 
question. 

Bess knows how she mea«s them to go on, much better than 
we do, and can carry out her own idea. Pray allow her to do 
it, Nell ; you’ll only spoil it for mother’s taste if you touch it.” 

Bess had finished re-arranging the trimming Nell’s frolic had 
displaced, and giving her aunt the cap, she now took up the new 
one and came and laid it on Katie’s lap. 

“ I will not touch it,” she said decidedly ; “ I never could have 
designed anything so stylish, and I only named the bows as a 
compromise for the roses. Aunt, I think you might give Katie 
your opinion about the ribbon. This lilac is very pretty, but if 
you would like aliother shade it’s easily gotten, you know.” 

“ I like that well enough, if there’s no escape from such gew- 
gaws. What’s Larry’s wife that a body must needs go out of 
their old ways for her ?” 

“ She’s a young lady accustomed to taste and elegance no doubt, 
and I, for one, consider it my duty to make any sacrifice in my 
power for Larry’s sake.” 

Katie said this with a noble disinterestedness that Uncle Ter- 
ry maliciously marred by adding : 

And may there never be a harder one in store for you than 
to dress yourself out to advantag^’ 

“ Bess bought a new chenille cover for the piano, mother,” 
said Nelly. It has not come home yet, but she says it is like ' 
the Daceys’,and you know we thought that one lovely. Cousin 


ADDIE WEST 


1b 


Bcrkcly, learn to get used to these family confidences, please ; 
it’s a weakness of ours to rejoice, like the scriptural woman over 
the piece of silver, about every new bit of furniture we get, aud 
this piano cover’s been an object of longing for months.” 

Katie’s face became gentle and winning as it had been before 
the episode of the cap. She looked sweetly at Bess, and said 
abstractedly : 

“ If those red velvet ottomans were re-covered how nice it 
would be.” 

Bess answered instantly, with something like vexation in her 
tone : 

“ I thought you said it was more important to have those 
frames re-gilt. I’m so sorry, for I ordered the man for to-morrow 
morning.” 

Katie looked very amiable. 

“ How thoughtful in you about those glasses,” she said, they 
were so dingy when the parlors were fully lighted last time, that 
I was distressed to look at them. But the ottomans are just as 
bad — ” she stopped and glanced sideways at Bess. 

“ Why, Bess,” exclaimed Kelly, suddenly, “ didn’t you say once 
— ^let me see — it was a month or two before Larry went away — 
that you thought you’d get new easy-chairs and a pair of those 
inlaid tables.” 

Bess’s face changed color, only for an instant, however, but 
her voice, when she spoke, reminded Berkely of the night he came 
home. 

“ I did think of it ; but it is better to wait till spring now. 
I will be very busy and shall not have time for more than I 
spoke of.” 

“It don’t take much time to go shopping, Bess,” urged Kell 
“ and I should like to awe Larry’s wife with our grandeur.” 

“ It’s not likely that we shall be able to do that,” said Katie • 
“ Cousin Berkely says they live in splendor.” 

“ I shall have to be up early to see about the gilding,” said 
Bess, rising suddenly, “ so I’ll say good-night.” 

Mrs. Morrison followed her uneasily with her eyes as she left 
the room abruptly. 


74 


THE MORRISONS. 


Nell, could you find nothing else to do but worry your cou- 
sin about getting new furniture ? I think there^s enough on her 
shoulders, and she feels it too, for she^s engaged Ellen O’Toole 
for the rest of the winter.” 

“ Thank Heaven for that,” cried Nell, devoutly. “ Now Uncle 
Terry will be deprived of one of his enjoyments — teasing me abou 
Bess’s industry. Oh, what a relief I” 

Berkely and Katie had been keeping up a desultory con 
versation, interrupted, momentarily, by Katie herself joining 
in the furniture discussion. They now abandoned it alta 
gether, and Katie said : 

“ What is a relief ? Of whom are you talking, Nell ?” 

“ Bessie has engaged Ellen O’Toole, mother says, and I’m 
delighted both for her sake and mine.” 

“ And so am I,” said Katie, approvingly. “ I shall have 
time to enjoy myself now, without the drudgery of dusting 
on my mind constantly. That was one of Bess’s strange 
delusions, I’m truly thankful it has exploded at last.” 

Uncle Terry sighed and shook his head dolorously. 

“ The Lord help Ellen O’Toole,” he said, “ and send her 
broad should(*rs ; there’ll be a wonderful burden ready for 
them when she comes here.” 

“ Uncle Terry, will you give me a moment or two about 
that business ? I saw the doctor, and he gave me the papers 
to look over.” 

Berkely rose, and the old man followed his example. 

“ I’ll go up to your room with you. I’m . glad you made 
the bargain, for they’re rising in value more and more since 
they’ve built up the streets out that way,” he said, as they 
went up stairs. 


ANOTIIEPw BLOW. 


75 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ANOTHER BLOW. 

When the breakfast bell rang next morning, Berkely 
f )Ti7i(l, on going down, that a coarse cloth cover was spread 
on the parlor carpet, and that the two great mirrors were 
taken from the walls and laid on trestles, with the gilders 
hard at work on them. 

The dining-room was warm and cheerful, and Bess bus- 
tled in and out of the kitchen bringing the dishes for break- 
fast Mrs. Morrison was warming her hands at the stove, 
and the young ladies stood at each window twirling their 
morning-gown tassels, a favorite occupation before breakfast. 
Uncle Terry had not come down yet. 

“ It’s ruthlessly cold,” said Berkely ; “ I used to long for 
the sight of snow, now I think it’s a miserably unsatisfactory 
affair.” 

“ Yes, it’s cold, Berkely,” said his aunt, “ but nothing to 
what you may expect. I forgot it was warmer when you came 
for and argued with Bess against putting that air-tight 
stove in your room ; but it seems she was in the right of it.” 

“ Miss Saunders, your foresight marks you a superior be- 
ing : that stove is the comfort of my existence,” said 
Berkely. He went to the window, through which Nell was 
watching the boys in the side street dance and revel in the 
snow. “ I remember when I was just as enthusiastic on the 
same subject. It’s very unmanly to dread the elements now, 
but it actually makes one shiver to see them bounding about, 
as they are, with their red hands and glowing noses.” 

“Here’s uncle and the coffee announced together — come 
and thaw your frozen mood, cousin Berkely,” said Katie. 

From his scat, opposite the kitchen door, Berkely belieid a 
colossal female enter, while breakfast was still in progress, 
and on tip-toe laboriously cross the floor. She was not only 
very tall but very broad and stout, and wore a thick double 


76 


THE MOERISONS. 


shawl that made her still stctuter. She had a small set of 
features in a wide expanse of face, and was particularly cut- 
off in the article of nose. Her expression was placid in the 
extreme, but in nowise remarkable, if you excepted the odd 
habit she had of accompanying every movement she made 
by a motion of her mouth. Her object in entering with such 
elaborate caution was evidently not to disturb the morning 
meal, but the look of palpable astonishment on Berkely’s 
face, as his eyes greeted this vision, attracted Nell’s atten- 
tion, who, looking into the kitchen to see the cause, burst out 
laughing. 

“ Why, it’s Ellen O’Toole, Berkely I What’s the matter 
with you ? One wmuld think you’d seen a ghost, only Ellen’s 
too substantial for that.” 

Berkely drew a long breath and looked around. 

“ She’s really intimidating,” he said in a whisper. Miss 
Saunders, I congratulate you on securing a daughter of the 
Titans.” 

Bess laughed. “ I should have prepared you for the arri- 
val,” she said, adding as they left the table, “ Be at dinner 
to the moment, these are busy days, you know.” 

As Berkely ran up for his cloak and hat, before going out, 
Mrs. Morrison called to him from her room : 

“ Come in here on your way down, please Berkely ; I want 
to speak with you.” 

He found his aunt standing by an old fashioned bureau, in 
an apartment filled with furniture of that style. Every article, 
from the ponderous bedstead down to the little light-stand, 
was heavily carved and darkened with age, till they seemed 
more like ebony than mahogany. 

“ You’re looking at the old furniture, I know,” said Mrs. 
Morris^ : “ well, it’s part of the plenishing of the first house 
we ever had in the country; they were not new then, for we 
bought them at a vendue, but somehow they’re more worth 
to me than all the new-fangled things that could be bought 
now.” 

She regarded an old style of writing-table, half desk, half 


ANOTHER BLOW. 


77 


escritoire, fondly. “At that very desk your own father 
has written time and again, and it’s the place your uncle 
kept all his private papers in, from the day we came to 
America till he died.” She opened it, saying — “And that re- 
minds me of what I want to ask of you. You heard the girls 
bother Bess about the big red stools in the parlor being 
covered, and them knowing well enough, or they ought to 
know, how much she has to do. Well, I want you to do me the 
favor of stopping at an upholsterer’s — I have his card here — 
and sending him f(jr them, if he can make it convenient to 
have them done for us in time.” 

Berkely protested that he would be delighted to do so, 
and begged his aunt to think of any other way in which he 
might be of use. 

“ If you do that, it’s all I’ll ask of you now ; but be sure, if 
there^’s anything else I want done, it’s you I’ll come to, 
Berkely dear.” She looked in a recess of the drawer, then 
on the mantel-piece, then in her pocket, and finally went into 
a thorough search. “ It’s the workman’s card I’m looking 
for,” she said ; “ where in all the world could I have 
put it ?” 

“ Won’t any upolsterer do, aunt ?” Berkely asked at length, 
seeing no chance of success. 

“ No, no, for you see he has the brocatelle that was put 
on the rest of the furniture, and it was that stuff, I heard 
Bess say, she would like for these stools. Just wait a bit 
now, and I’ll away down and take a look around the dining- 
room.” 

Leaving Berkely standing in her doorway, Mrs. Morrison 
bustled down stairs, brushing as she went the figure of an 
elegantly dressed lady, whom Jenny Brackett was escort- 
ing up. 

“ She wants to see Miss Bess, mum,” explained that young 
damsel in passing ; “ Miss Bess told me to fetch her up to 
her room, ’cause the men’s in the parlors.” 

Mrs. Morrison merely nodded to Jenny ; the lady’s face 
vvas veiled and turned away, so to her she said nothing. 


78 


THE MOEEISONS. 


Bcrkely, being a 3’oung man, made a pretense of lingering,' 
that he niiglit see the face belonging to the graceful figure ; 
but the lady almost darted in at the door Jenny held open 
for lier, and seemed anxious to avoid all observation. 

Berkely turned into his aunt’s room again and threw him 
self into her easy-chair to wait for her return. Presently 
Bess’s footsteps sounded on the stair, and he saw her cross 
the hall and turn the knob of her door ; before it was closed, 
she said : 

“ Did you want to see me ?” and then added in a tone of 
surprise, “ Miss West?” 

The door was shut, but still Berekly heard the answer, 
“ Yes ; hush, please, I wmnt to speak to you. I have been 
waiting to meet you for the last fortnight, but could not. 
Miss Saunders, I know you’ll despise me when Pve done 
speaking, but my mind’s made up to bear it.” 

A little door connecting Bess’s room with lK3r aunt’s ex- 
plained the ease with which Berkely heard these words ; it 
was a trifle ajar : his aunt had left it so when she glanced 
in to see if the missing card could be on Bess’s mantel- 
piece. 

Miss Saunders made no answer, and in a moment the 
strange lady continued : 

“ What I tell you is to my own shame and confusion. 
Look at me, and think a while, and you’ll suspect and shrink 
from me.” 

Another moment of silence and then Bess’s voice reached 
Berkely, saying very gently : 

“ I have no right to sit in judgment on you ; if you have 
any trouble to tell me, I’m truly sorry for you, but pray spare 
^yourself” 

“ If humbling myself had any worth in it now, I should 
I'.ot spare myself. Miss Saunders ; but it’s all done and can’t 
l»e helped. I’ll tell the truth just as it is ; if you can find 
any mercy for me in your own heart, it’s more than I have 
for myself.” 

For a little while the speaker seemed to pause for self- 


ANOTIIEli BLOW. 79 

control or to be unable to find the words she needed ; but 
by-and-bye she said : 

“ I was working here for nearly two months, and I thought 
your Cousin Lawrence Morrison a very handsome man ; one 
night it was raining terribly, and he ran after me with an 
i umbrella and sheltered me all the way home. Then I thought 
him kind as well as handsome ; after that he waited for me 
, nightly and talked to me so that I had only one thought in 
all my mind, which was how I loved him. I do not attempt 
to justify myself, it’s simple truth to say he promised to 
marry me ; and bought me handsome clothes, and said I 
must give up sewing. I never doubted him until my doubts 
were too late to do me service.” 

She stopped a while and seemed to walk up and down the 
floor ; suddenly she began again : 

“ I didn’t come here to make a lament, as you may know ; 
I fought the battle with my own heart long ago, and I came 
off changed, but conqueror. I neither grieve nor waste my 
Ilf days in idle regret. I am working hard in a new scene; 
there’s nothing around me to bring back what’s gone, and I 
never name it even to my own soul. I had to tell you this, 
to make you understand me ; the rest is soon said. I know 
all about him now, liar and traitor that he is, and have come 
to you to do a duty. I saw you long enough to guess a 
little at your nature, and I know it ; you’re proud, but you’ll 
forgive me when I say, I know he deceived you, because you 
know now how much bitterer my heart should be than yours. 
The night before he left for New York you gave him two 
thdusand dollars, fifteen hundred of which you got in a mort- 
, gage on your house, and five hundred that you had of your 
: annuity. You see I know it all, but I declare to you I did 
not know it till a fortnight ago.” 

“ Who told you then ?” Bess asked fainlly. 

“ His own folly ; he’s a short-sighted villain, and left the 
l>’apers with me by mistake. You may think that I have but 
little reason to hold his secrets sacred. He told you that the 
money was absolutely necessary to his success in business 


80 


THE MOERISONS. 


Po yon guess what lie really meant it for ? Listen, and think 
if such a wretch is worth a sigh or regretful thought. It 
was to buy me off from following him ; had he staid here I 
might have given him trouble. I was desperate then, you 
see, so he worked his game to go away, and pay me to be 
quiet. Ill my rage and miseiy I scarcely understood him 
till he was gone, and then I took a fever. You hardly kncwjjj 
me when you came in. I don’t wonder ; I sometimes do not 
know myself, for I got up an altered woman, I have work 
to do that keeps me from thinking, that gives excitement to 
my life, and I don’t covet solitude or memory. All this is 
nothing to you, but this money is, it’s part of what I owe 
you. Please don’t shrink away ; listen to reason. I couldn’t 
touch that wretch’s money ; it would kill me. When I was 
sick they took part of it, but I’ll make it up in time to you ;* 
I can, easily, and I’ll send it, for I’ll never trouble you my- 
self again. Here it is, one thousand dollars he left for me ; 
this holds eight hundred, the very bills he gave me ; there 
are two hundred wanting that I could have had, but for the 
wardrobe I’ve had to buy.” 

Take the money away. It is not mine. Oh take it away,” 
Bess said in a faint, trembling voice. 

“ I won’t keep it. Miss Saunders ; shall I send it back to 
him ?” 


“ Do what you please with it, only for God’s sake take it 
and go ” 

The w^omen seemed to look at each other silently — then 
the actress said firmly : 

“ I’ll give it to his mother, and tell her the story ; I swear to 
Heaven I will, if you refuse it now.” 

“ Give it to me,” said Bess, eagerly, “ give it to me. Go 
and God help you. I wish from the d'-nfns fff mv s.-^nl I 
could have died without knowing tii.s. ^u, no, don’t come 
near me ; go, please go.”. 

The door opened, closed again, and the rustling silks o^ 
the stranger fluttered down the stairs and out at the door 
Bcrkely sprang up and in noiseless haste flew down after, her. 


ANOTlllCR BLOW. 


81 


A droad of ^.fiss Saunders finding; In'rn listening came upon 
liiin when she and her companion had ceahed speaking; not 
till then had lie the least idea of eav’es-dropping, from the 
first sound that fell on his ear till the last died away, he was 
conscious of no feeling except intense interest in the speakers. 
Below stairs the men were still busy working at tlieir gild- 
ing, and there was no one else in sight. Suddenly he re- 
membered his aunt and went towards the dining-room The 
door was opened by the brawny Ellen, who said to some one 
within ; 

“ It’s herself dl know better nor any of us. She’s in her 
room, and I’ll fly up till her.” 

“Where’s Mrs. Morrison?” demanded Berkely, thinking 
meantime of some pretext to prevent her breaking in on Bess’s 
solitude. 

“ She’s inside, sur, an’ don’t be troublin’ her, she’s in a great 
way wid the milkman’s bill, an’ we can’t find Miss Bess to tell 
us about it,” said Ellen, still, from her attitude, intent on 
flying up. 

“ Oh, Berkely, dear, what ever can you think of me for leav- 
ing you standing so long. I was just so put out with the milk- 
man’s account, that I forgot everything. Wait a bit.” 

She had a long slip of paper in her hand, and running to the 
kitchen door she handed it to a man, whose profile lay in relief 
against it, saying : “ Come in the morrow and it’ll be settled ; I 
can neither see head nor tail to it till Bess explains it.” 

The milkman readily departed, admitting the wisdom of Mrs. 
Morrison’s decision, and adding that he “ was a wondering she 
hadn’t done it afore.” 

“ You didn’t find the card, I suppose, aunt ?” said Berkley. 

“ No then, I did not, Berkely, -and it’s just that same milk- 
man has to answer for it. I couldn’t remember what it was I 
had eonie down for, with his quarts of this and pints of that. 
What is the matter, Ellen ; is anything wrong with you ?” 

“ No, ma’am,” said the alighting Ellen ; “ but there’s some- 
tliing wrong Avid Miss Bess, I’m feared, for she didn’t hear me 
knock, so I opened the door and found her lying on the floor 


82 


TriR MuimiSONS. 

wid her head between her knees, *in a qaarc way, and I coiddti’tj 
make her sinsible of how the milkman was overcharging yez, dcj| 
what I would.” S 

Berkely caught his aunt’s arm. “ Go up quickly, aunt, andj 
do something for her. Give her — yes, yes, give her a glass of J 
that old sherry — make her drink it whether she will or not.” K 
As he was hastily insisting on this receipt to be administered J 
by his aunt, Miss Saunders opened the diniiig-roora door. S 

“ I’ve been frightening poor Ellen, I’m afraid,” she said, laugh- f 
Ing. “ I’ve had that miserable neuralgia again, and I haven’t a; 
particle of courage or patience under pain. Don’t look alarmed,: 
Ellen, it’s better now ; I’m so selfish that while it lasts, I give' 
up to wailing without thinking how I’ll frighten people.” 

“ Shall I wait for that card, my dear aunt ?” asked Berkely,' 
resignedly ; in pity he neither looked at or spoke to Bess. 

‘‘ No, no. Berkely, dear. I’ll step over myself when I have 
a spare moment or two, for I know where to find the store ; 
f)ravely, without being able to tell any one else.” i 

“ Find what ?” asked Bess from the kitchen, whither she had ' 
followed Ellen. - 

Well then, dear, you may as well know it first as last. I’ve^ 
got a notion in my head to have the two big stools covered 
Bess, I’ve got the money laying by me, and what else to do withS 
it, I don’t know.” * 

“I know, then, which will do as well.” Bess shook her 
head as she spoke, reprovingly. “You know, aunt, well enough 
tliat you promised me to get yourself a new lavender silk. It is 
well I caught you, if you meant to break your word in that dis- 
honorable way.” 


TABLEAUX. 


83 


CHAPTER IX, 

TABLEAUX. 

Bess carried her point, for that evening when Berkely came 
home to tea, the lavender silk was one of the events of the day, 
and was displayed to him in the dining-room by his two cousins, 
who had been shopping all the afternoon. 

“ Gentlemen in general don’t like to be bored by ladies’ pur- 
chases,” said Xelly. But Larry spoilt us by taking an interest 
in everything we bought. By-the-bye, has any one told you the 
news, cousin Berkely ? No ; then hear it from me. We have 
had a letter from Larry, and he and his wife will be here on the 
21st. So Bess has only a week for all her wonderful arrange- 
ments.” 

“ I knew you’d be charmed,” said Katie to Berkely, from 
whose face everything like expression was banished in his effort 
to prevent their guessing how much he sympathized with Bess in 
any fresh announcement. “We got the letter just after you 
went out, and there are so many things one needs for company, 
that Nell and I started at once and set to work.” 

“ Look at this lace, if you understand such things, Berkely; if 
you don’t, I hope you’ll refrain from making a remark. Isn’t it 
exquisite ?” 

“ I don’t understand laces, cousin Nell,” Berkely confessed ; 
“ but I think that this is pretty.” 

“ Pretty, why it’s beautiful. Bess,” she called out to her 
cousin, who was initiating Ellen O’Toole into the mystery of 
laying the cloth for tea, “ do you know I saw point, exquisitely 
delicate point, almost as handsome as the set your mother left 
you, but I kept my eyes steadily fixed on the Valenciennes, 
and never uttered a sigh for it. Katie wasn’t so firm, she went 
and priced it.” 

“ That was Katie all out and out,” laughed Uncle Terry 
“ Nothing’s a trouble to her, that would beautify her, if she had 

it. Isn’t, it so, Peggy ?” 

6 


84 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ You’re just saying that because the poor child forgot youi 
coffee this morning, uncle. It’s not fair iu you. Sure every 
decent creature likes decent clothes on their back ; Katie’s none 
the worse for her taste, I think.” 

Mrs. Morrison, though she would not have acknowledged it, 
was in a singularly placid state concerning the lavender silk. 
She looked keenly at Berkely out of the corner of her eye when 
he was called to admire it. With the air of rather disparaging 
it, she remarked, “ I fear it’s too gay for my years,” and when 
he waived all her fictitious objections by declaring that it was at 
once suitable and beautiful, she expanded into a happy good 
humor that was delightful to behold. Indeed Larry’s letter had 
put them all in high, good spirits, and Berkely found it almost 
impossible to believe that they had ever been so averse to his 
marriage. 

“ All great reforms are preceded by unpleasant irruptions, and 
we are going to be deprived of our parlor for a day or two, and , 
be obliged to smell varnish for as many more. What do you • 
think of the prospect, cousin ?” Nelly asked this after tea, when 
the table was rolled away, and the crumbs brushed up. ‘‘I 
used to think it rather pleasant to stay in here, but now we’re 
obliged to do it, I think it a terrible bore.” 

“ What is being done in the parlor ?” he asked ; “ I thought 
the gilding was all that was decided on.” 

“ Oh, Bess became reasonable, and sent for an upholsterer ; so 
we’re to have new cornices for the curtains, two new easy-chairs, 
and the old ones covered with beautiful chintz for Larry’s room. 
Just think of all this I beside everything being polished, and new 
covers for the ottomans.” 

“ Mr. Morrison, if you find such splendor hard to realize, you 
can aid your imagination by looking at this.” 

Bess came out of the kitchen, holding a large iced cake in her 
hands, ornamented with all sorts of pretty devices. She looked 
very handsome, for her usually pale face glowed with color, and 
her eyes were bright and flashing. 

“ It must bo of your own making, I’m sure, from that look of 
pride in your handiwork. Am I right 




TABLEAUX. 


85 


Yes ; I made it,” she answered, with a short laugh of ex- 
ultation. “ It’s for Christmas ; do you wonder why I made it 
so soon ? well. I’ll tell you. It’s a fruit cake, and the longer 
they are kept the nicker. they are, so I got Ellen and Jenny to 
help me, and made it tp-day while all were out.” 

“ Am I to be very deeply impressed with it, or have I oh’d 
enough over it,” asked Berkely, gravely. 

“ I really don’t think you have been very profuse in your ad 
miration, but I don’t mind, since Nelly and Katie say they 
thought it came from a confectioner’s. That was a compliment,, 
you know.” 

“Yes; and I think it really a miracle of skill,” interposed 
Nelly, warmly. “ Bess took the pattern of the flowers off those 
aprons you gave us, and those geometrical looking quiveryciies 
ill the middle, are her own idea.” 

“ I shall make another ; I’ve done so well with this,” said 
Bess, proudly, “ that I really feel it a duty to cultivate the 
talent.” 

“ Uncle Terry,” said Katie, suddenly, “ you knowhow unmer- 
cifully you have teased me about tangling silk, as you call it ? 
I just wish you to look at these little mats and cushions for the 
“ What-not,” and acknowledge the error of your ways. Those 
alabaster and parian figures wouldn’t show at all, if it wpre not 
for this bright scarlet to throw them in relief.” 

“Dear, oh dear I” murmured Uncle Terry, as if awe-struck 
with the force of her wmrds. “Would any one ever think of 
that, if they weren’t told ? It is just wonderful, the usefulness of 
Katie’s work. You and I know well enough, Peggy, that if it 
wasn’t for the likes of these elegancies it would hardly be worth 
striving to live at all.” 

“ I didn’t expect you to acknowledge yourself wrong, uncle,” 
said Katie, smiling, “ so I’m not disappointed a bit. But come, 
Bess and Nellie, and let us all lay our heads together, and con 
mre up the plan for the week.” 

“ Where’s Larry’s letter, mother ? Berkely might like to sco 
it. There, I knew you would mislay it, when f saw you wander- 
ing round with it in your hand. Never mind, now. Cousin, you 


86 


THE MORRISONS. 


must know tliat Larry has only a week to spend, and tliat the 
Waters have some friends here who liave insisted on two days at 
least ; so, you see, we must make the most of our time.” 

Nelly drew the chairs close to the sofa, where Berkely and 
Uncle Terry were sitting. 

“ Uncle,” she whispered, insinuatingly, “ don’t you want to go 
over to Dacey’s ? the old doctor was speaking of you this after 
noon when we called ; wasn’t he, Katie ?” But, seeing no sign 
of relenting in her uncle’s face, she suddenly changed her tone, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Now, just let us make him promise not to tease us, or laugh 
at every suggestion made. Berkely, do help us to subdue him, 
won’t you ?” 

“What have I done to you that you’re flying at me in this 
way ? and striving to hustle me out of the house too. Faith, it’s 
time for folk to look to themselves when they’re threatened in 
this sort.” 

Uncle Terry put on a look of martyr-like resignation, and the 
girls laughed. Katie came and sat down by him, and Nelly 
opened the proceedings solemnly. 

“ The 20th comes on Tuesday ; so Larry will be here a week 
from to-day, in the three o’clock train ; that will make it nearly 
four when they arrive, and the. reception will last till tea’s ready. 
After tea, Larry’s old friends, the Daceys, Kings, Lindleys and 
Littles, will call, so that evening’s provided for.” 

“ Yes,” interposed Katie, “ and you know that the Daceys said 
to-day they wanted us to secure Thursday for them ; and the 
Littles have named Saturday for us all to drink tea there.” 

“ Which leaves us only Wednesday and Friday of that week,” 
said Nell. 

“ No ; there is only Friday for us,” said Bess ; “on Wednes- 
day aunt was to go with them to dine with Larry’s new connec- 
tions.” 

“ To be sure,” cried Nell ; “ I forgot that.” 

Berkely looked up at Bess quickly. He was breathless with 
astonishment to hear the gay, careless voice in which she spoke 
of the man who had worked her such evil. 


TABLEAUX. 


‘ 87 

Apparently unconscious of his glance, she went on : 

“ So I think we may as well have our tableaux on Friday ; it 
will be Christmas Eve ; and a family dinner next day, with tea 
at the Littles, and a sight of their Christmas tree will finish the 
week.” 

“ Capitally,” said Katie, approvingly ; “ but let us be partic- 
ular about one thing : let every tableau be decided on before 
they come, and all the things got ready. You remember those 
the Parkers arranged last Christmas ? the terrible hubbub took 
away all tlie pleasure. They had to buy lamp-wick for Sappho^s 
hair after the company arrived ; and Bess had to rush home for 
a heavy linen sheet to make Yirginius a toga.” 

“ Yes,” said Nell ; “ and the powder fell off the fairies’ faces 
while they were kept waiting ; and the Queen of Sheba’s crown 
got worked round till the part with no gilding could be seen ; 
and one of Titania’s wings fell off on the floor as she was being 
shown.” 

Berkely laughed heartily. 

“ If anything could be done to avoid such wholesale distrac- 
tion, I think, with Katie, it would be well to see to it,” he said. 

“You know, cousin,” said Katie, whose amiably confidential 
manner was very becoming to her, “ it is highly important that 
we do these tableaux grandly; and, to tell you the truth, I know 
we shall, for the Daceys never could have had those Shakes- 
pearian scenes if it hadn’t been for us. I’m glad now tl^at we 
helped them as much as we did, for tliey have quite a collection 
of things that we can borrow for ours.” 

“ Let us have something in which Berkely can wear a cloak 
and slouched hat,” said Nell, looking critically at her cousin ; 
“ he would make a lovely villain.” 

“ Good gracious,” cried Berkely, in alarm, “ I beg you won’t 
mention it. I think I could do soipething in the way of lighting 
up, or hanging curtains, but further than the mechanical part I 
wouldn’t dare to aspire. I shall enjoy them beyond expression; 
the mere idea is exciting.” 

“ Is there never an old ruffian wanting?” asked Uncle Terry, 


88 


THE MORRISONS. 


meekly. “ I would be made up entirely if you could find an 
opening for me.” 

“ There, I told you,” cried Nell, “ Uncle Terry would have 
his fling at us. I knew it.” 

“ Will I not be suffered to open my mouth, Nell V’ he 
asked. 

“ Uncle,” said Katie, sweetly, “ pray don’t notice Nell ; she 
always gets excited when there’s anything to be done.” 

Bess had a slip of paper and a portfolio. “ Will you lend ' 
me a pencil, Mr. Morrison, and I’ll take a list of the tableaux, so 
as to find out what will be needed,” she said. 

“ What’s all this clashing about ; are ye plotting treason with 
your heads laid close together ?” asked Mrs. Morrison, returning 
from carrying up the purchases that had been on exhibition. 
The girls began to talk together by way of explanation. 

“ We’re arranging tableaux for Christmas Eve, aunt,” said 
Bess, when the rest had exhausted the theme and reduced her 
aunt to the verge of insanity by talking at the same time of 
the Daceys, Waters, Larry’s wife, and Berkely’s possible aid in 
making a curtain.” 

“ Then it’s just a parcel of Judies you’re going to make of 
yourselves, and so I tell you. When I waS a growing girl, no 
such nonsense was heard of among the folk, but now it seems to 
me the people have taken leave of their wits.” 

Mrs. Morrison’s features were never classic, but now she 
rubbed up her nose irascibly till it was decidedly pug. 

“ Mother might do for a Helen of Troy if we could get her to 
wear sleeveless muslin,” said Nell, meditatively. 

Her mother took the suggestion extremely ill. 

“ Do you hear that, Berkely ?” she cried ; “ isn’t it enough to 
turn my hair white, the disrespect of them that I’ve taught bet- 
ter ? No, Nelly, if it was to be the making of you for life, I 
wouldn’t go into a tableau as Helen or any one else. Sure I’ve 
two thicknesses of flannel on my arms, forbye a pad on my 
chest for the cough I had last winter.” 

Nelly laughed uproariously. “ Then we’ll hav« to give up 


TABLEAUX. 


89 


the idea, mother,” she said. “ But what a pity that you can^t 
take off your flannel.” 

Bess held the pencil suspended in her fingers. 

“ I want to begin,” she said. “ Six willJbe enough, I think ; 
what shall I put down first ?” 

“ Let us be as classic as possible ; that style only needs whiter 
muslin and gold bands.” Katie made this suggestion, as she 
ran over on her fingers the dresses that might be made avail- 
able. 

‘‘ Then,” said Berkely, “ if I might suggest, I would say that 
the Judgment of Paris would be a fine subject. You couldfft 
have a more classic shepherd that Mr. Little, and you three 
could do the goddesses to perfection.” 

“ That would be nice, if I could wear a helmet,” said Katie 

I’m not tall enough for Juno, nor broad enough for Venus, 
and a helmet spoils the shape of my face.” 

“ Katie Morrison, I’d be obliged to you if you would respect 
people’s figures,” said Nell, testily. “ Broad enough for Venus, 
she says, and looks straight at me. Whoever heard of Venus 
being broad ? Cousin, I think it would make a glorious picture ; 
and there’s Bell Dacey, that a helmet makes absolutely beauti- 
ful — she wore one as Liberty, because the cap looked blowsy.” 

“ Bell Dacey isn’t capable of expression,” said Katie ; 
“ besides, I’ve thought of a way in which I can manage the hel- 
met. Now about Juno ; isn’t your hair too light, Bess?” 

“I’m afraid it is,” admitted Bess. “ Carrie Little has fine 
black hair, and will look majestic.” 

“ Carrie Liltle’s an inch shorter than I am,” exclaimed Katie; 
“ the idea of her being majestic is absurd.” 

“ I meant that we could stand her on a block, and let her 
skirt fall over it. We did that in Bell Dacey’s tableaux,” said 
Bess, mildly. 

Uncle Terry glanced at Berkely, and both burst into laugh- 
ter. 

“ It’s live and learn, Berkely,” said the old man. “ Homer 
himself would never have thought of such a device to give height 
to a goddess I” 


90 


THE MOREISONS. 


V 

p 

“Still I declare in favor of Miss Saunders^ Juno,” said * 
Berkely. “ Although I acknowledge Miss Little would be irre- 
sistible, particularly if the block were a tall one.” • 

“ You think it silly, I know,” said Bess ; “ but wait till you • 
see the effect.” 

Let us have something comical, and leave it to Berkely and 
, uncle to arrange ; that will occupy their spare time, and use 
up their superfluous wit, too,” said Nell, significantly. 

“ Tiieu,” said Bess, “ let us have Cleopatra discovered dead 
in the tomb of Isis. Adah Parker is really magnificent in 
antique scarlet and gold, and her brother has a suit of Roman 
armor, and can be one of the soldiers. Then there^s that beau- ! 
tifiil Turkish suit that we can get from them for Katie, to be 
Gulnare in. You would do a scene from the Corsair, wouldn’t 
you, Katie ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Katie, smilingly ; “ but don’t you think 
something with Medora on it would suit your style. I do want 
Bess to do something that will show how splendid her hair is.” 

Katie spoke earnestly. The Turkish dress was a favorite 
vanity of hers, and in the delight of the idea, she was willing to ' 
aihjw Bess had fine hair. She even went further ; for looking 
at her thoughtfully for a moment, she exclaimed : 

“ Why couldn’t Bess do a Judith ? of course she could ; a 
turban would take off the effect of her hair, and her eyes are the 
very thing. There, we’ll have ‘Judith killeth Holofernes,’ and 
that with the two comical devices of our wits here, will complete 
the list.” 

H At this announcement, Bess further astonished Berkely by 
going into genuine ecstacies at the thought of wearing a 
turban. No light-hearted child could have expressed greater r 
pleasure at a promised doll than this woman, whom he had 
thought outraged in soul and broken in spirit, did in the 
hope of wearing a black scarf embroidered with gold around- 
her head. 

' The number and style of the tableaux being decided upon, 
the whole party immediately went into a spirited considera- 
tion of what was needed to drqss them, and who should be 


TABLEAUX. 


91 


chosen to present the different characters. Uncle Terry, dis- 
pite his cynicism, proved himself a really important ally, for 
he had studied costume largely from old plays, and having a 
singularly fine memory, could repeat every passage verbatim 
that they wished to illustrate. Berkely threw his abilities 
into making out a programme, and Katie wrote a few notes 
to be dispatched early in the morning to the families whose 
possessions or services they required. To lose no time, Bess 
and Nelly hauled out of a store-closet, in the upper hall, three 
or four great paper boxes containing a debris of ribbons, gold 
and silver paper, spangles, tarleton, and crushed flowers, and 
carrying them down to the dining-room, spread them out for 
investigation. Berkely and Uncle Terry went to work at 
separating the different fabrics, and Nelly and Bess smoothed 
tlicm out nicely. 

“ There^s work enough begun to-night,” said Mrs. Morri- 
son, in a tone of displeasure. “ Bo any of you know what 
time it is, or do you mean to go to your beds at all ?” 

Berkely was astonished at his aunt^s objecting to their 
plans for Larry’s entertainment ; beside her love and pride 
in her only son, she was naturally so genial and kind-hearted, 
that her coldness on the tableaux question seemed inexplica- 
ble. 

“ Don’t you think they will be pleasant, aunt V” he asked, 
referring to the list he had made out, and which she was re- 
garding with great disfavor. 

“It’s just another name for play-actoring,” she returned, stern- 
ly. “ Sure I went over to Dacey’s with the girls to a great to- 
do they got up of this kind, and they had a green curtain 
hung across the parlors, and everything fixed off like a theay- 
ter. That was bad enough ; but when they rolled it up and 
showed Nellie with scarcely half her clothes on her back, 
and a couple of wings fastened on her, standing on tip-toe 
like a public dancer^ and smiling as bold as you please on a 
young man in his bare legs, lying at her feet, with the head of a 
jackass on his shoulders, I was that mortified, Berkely, dear, 
that I could have sunk through the floor with shame. I 


92 


THE MORRISONS. 


never held np ray head again nor looked at the creatures ; 
but I’ll warrant you Katie was just as bad, and Bess, too, 
that I had more hope of. Oh, it’s a burning shame I” 

“ Mother, I think you speak disgracefully ; the idea of 
talking of Mr. Harrington as you did. Berkely, I hope you 
don’t think that. Oh, I’m really annoyed at you, mother,” 
v.nd Nelly, flushed and angry, burst into tears. 

“ Let us put them aside for to-night, Nell,” said Bess, kind- 
ly. “ Aunt, I think you don’t know how pretty these ta- 
bleaux will be, and every one will wear plenty of clothes, and 
it will give us pleasure. So I know you won’t go against it, 
will you ?” 

“ I’m not going against you, lass ; and Nellie has little to 
do that she sits up there, tooting, as if some one had taken 
a stick to her. Have your own plays ; but when I was a 
growing girl such doings were the diversions of Punch and 
Judy, in a booth at a fair.” 

Thus entering her last protest, Mrs. Morrison took up her 
lamp and retired, giving Uncle Terry a look of amazement, 
at his interest in the theatrical properties. 

The old man shook his head as she left the room, and 
sighed. 

“ Isn’t it wonderful,” he said to Berkely, “ that these chil- 
dren will set themselves up in the face of their parent’s au- 
thority, and without regard to her displeasure go their own 
gait ?” 

Berkely was not so modern in his opinions and tastes that 
he had forgotten the school of absolute obedience and respect 
to parents in which he had been reared ; the idea of ignoring 
it now filled him with distress. 

“ Uncle Terry,” said he, “ I do sincerely wish that my 
aunt was better pleased ; is she really principled against 
these things ?” 

Uncle Terry, whose sombre countenance had been assumed, 
threw it aside and laughed heartily. 

“ May be you won’t believe me, Berkely, when I tell you 
that not one of us will be better pleased with the flurry 


BESS A DEBTOR. 


93 


you’re goin^ to have, than Peggy Morrison. It’s a way she 
has of settling any little gaiety that’s going on with her own 
conscience. After she’s had her say out, there’s not another 
frown’ll be seen on her face. Every one has their grave 
times, and Peggy’s such a harmless creature, we may easily 
allow her that oiie.” 


CHAPTER X. 

BESS A DEBTOR. 

True to Uncle Terry’s prediction, Mrs. Morrison’s face was 
as clear and sunny as a May morning, when the tableaux 
next were broached. Everybody and everything was in . a 
state of preparation, during the next week, and Berkely, per- 
meated with the universal spirit of industry, found himself 
hurrying home from his lawyer’s, where the deeds of trans- 
fer were settled, and in a breathless way assuming an old 
coat of Larry’s, and hammering away in the back kitchen at 
the stage for the tableaux, or nearly dislocating his neck 
twining evergreen round the picture frames. Every new 
touch given to the parlors summoned the whole household 
together to witness the effect. Even Ellen O’Toole struggled 
through the kitchen door, drying her arms as she went, to 
join the admiration excited by every fresh addition. Berkely 
became conscious of this vassal -like homage on the occasion 
of his purchasing two choice pictures for either side the 
hearth. Fearing that he had taken a liberty, he consulted 
his aunt as to hanging them in the places designed, and found 
her full of approval, but anxious on the subject of the ex- 
penditure. Naming a random price a little over the cost of 
their carriage home — their real value would have rendered 
her speeehless — he availed himself of the services of the per* 
son who accompanied them, and had them hung at once. 

Under bfs aunt’s auspices the whole establishment gather- 


94 


THE MOHETSONS. 


ed to look on, and when the man departed, beg'an to walk 
backward in a body to gain the full beauty of the works of 
art. Joining in this retrogade step, Berkely alighted on the 
feet of the sturdy Ellen, who not taking it at all ill, assured 
him in relation to the pictures, that “ they were the most 
wonderfullest things iver she cl apt her eyes on” — and fur- 
ther inquired, “ if they were tuck from Scripture ?” 

At last the parlors were complete, and looked, as Nell 
said, “ comparatively gorgeous.” The freshened carpets, pol- 
ished furniture, and new cornices, were all subjects of pride 
and delight ; and it had been the family custom, for the past 
week, to gather them before the tea bell rang, to exchange 
remarks of critical admiration on each new feature. 

It was on Monday, the day preceding the expected arri- 
vals, Berkely walked slowly and thoughtfully homeward. 
Everything was complete, so there was no occasion for 
hurry, and now he began to feel how necessary this excite- 
ment had become to him, and in its absence to relapse into 
troubled speculation on Bess Saunders. His interest in this 
odd girl, Berkely explained to himself in this wise : 

“ She was a buoyant, happy creature, blest in her duties 
and her power of giving happiness, until I came. Larry 
struck his blow through me, and I am the only confidant of 
her grief ; unwillingly^ so on her part, but still lier con- 
fidant.” This thought brought him to the door in Burleigh 
Place. “ She is so much the better for this bustle of prepar- 
ing, that I almost forgive the cowardly scamp for coming 
here,” he thought, and the trouble, that dwelt on his mind 
always, obtruded itself again. “ Will she be able to meet 
all this expense, and will he repay her the money he was 
scoundrel enough to borrow ?” This bitter idea chafed his 
spirit, and was the one ghost that haunted him in the midst 
of his pleasure — for Berkely’s life was pleasant. With an 
intense enjoyment of home and home interests, his youth and 
manhood having been in the past arid of them all, he was a 
phenomenon, inasmuch as in their absence he had not lost 
his power of enjoyment in them when they returned. Fif- 


BESS A DEBTOR. 


95 


toen 3'oarR would have liardciiod most iiK'n out of llicir nu^mo- 
ries ; but B(‘i ke]y, though keenly alive to business plans and 
business gains, kept an inner life apart, full of fancies fed 
from books, and day-dreams born of lonely longings. Had 
he lived at home, and in the society of women, no doubt he 
would have married early and become a fireside man oi 
nights, and a busy votaiy of gain-getting by day ; but now 
he had made his fortune — or, at least, what he was content 
to consider as such — and had begun to live that portion of 
his life belonging, of right, to fickle, dreamy youth, when 
years had matured his fancies into passions, and though 
they might have stolen some of their fire, had given firmness 
and strength to his feelings. 

To throw his cloak and hat on the rack in the hall, and 
hurry into the parlor for a new look at its beauties, had been 
the habit of the week, and he found himself inside the door 
before he became aware of the fact that Miss Saunders stood 
in the centre of the room, confronting, with a flushed face, 
a strange gentleman, who had a cool, implacable, business 
face, and who was beating a folded paper against his hand 
and looking coolly around him. 

“ If you choose you can write to the party who negoti- 
ated,” he said, as Berkely entered; “ but it must be within 
the next five days ; the note is in bank now. It is due on 
tlie 26th ; you have three days more, and then we shall be 
obliged to come down on the property.” 

Bess saw Berkely, who stepped back as if to leave the 
room. “ Sta}^ a moment, Mr. Morrison,” she said, after an 
instant’s consideration, in which her face expressed a sharp 
struggle. “ Shut the door, please, and come here.” She 
took the paper from the gentleman’s hand and held it in her 
own, crumpled nervously under her trembling fingers. 

“ This gentleman comes here on a little business relative 
to some borrowed money, which I understood to be in the 
form of a mortgage, but which he assures me was a note to 
b<‘ paid in five months. I am surprised out of the power of 
thought by this : will you be good enough to think for me ?” 


96 


THE MOURISONS. 


“ Certainly,” said Berkely, eagerly. “ But pray let mo 
beg you to give me the papers, and leave me to settle it with 
this person.” 

She grew a perfect scarlet as he held out his hand for the 
bill she was holding. 

“ No,” she said. Please don’t ask me to — to I was 

wrong to ask your assistance, but this surprised me. All I 
need, is to know if I must pay this bill at once.” 

Berkely took her hand and led her towards the window, 
whilst the hard-featured gentleman took up his position in 
front of a picture in the back parlor. 

I can tell you nothing without seeing the bill ; but there 
is no doubt that it is correct, and that the person presenting 
it tells you the truth.” 

“ I thought it was a mortgage, and made no provision — 
that is, no present provision — for it. I am confused beyond 
description ; but aunt must know nothing of it. Oh, remem* 
ber, aunt must know nothing !” 

She looked, as she had said, confused beyond description ; 
her color had all gone, and even her lips were pale ; she bit 
them tremblingly, and, locking her hands together, looked 
down upon the carpet. 

Berkely stepped into the back parlor. 

. “ I beg your pardon, sir, but may I ask your name ?” 

“ Martin & Lessing — there’s our card— Brokers and Gen- 
eral Agents. This business was done in the regular wmy, 
but women will always bother about money matters. I told 
the young fellow, when he came to negotiate, that I didn’t 
like a woman’s name; but the property was good, and he en- 
dorsed it, so I did -it to oblige him. In point of fact, I came 
here for the same purpose; for, hearing he’d left town, I 
thought I’d see the young woman myself, and prevent 
trouble.” 

“ Was there anything said about a mortgage ?” 

“ Devil a word to us. We don’t do that lengthy kind of 
business ; this note is beyond our usual time, but it was to 
oblige, as I said, to oblige.” 


BESS A DEBTOK. 


97 


You have left the notice, so I suppose there’s nothing 
more to bo attended to, Mr. Martin ? The bill will be taken 
up in due time. Good evening.” 

Berkely came back from closing the hall door. Bess still 
stood by the window, but her lips were firm and her hands 
had ceased to work nervously. 

I can arrange this, 1 think, Mr. Morrison. I have some 
property that will not be missed — when I say missed, I mean 
by my aunt, you know. I have some ready money, too — I 
can arrange it, only I am selfish, you see, so I have begged 
you to help me to keep it from my aunt.” 

A strong wish woke in Berkely’s mind, and he struggled 
for words to express it. 

She saw and forestalled him. ^ 

Mr. Morrison,” she said, “ believe me, you are the only 
living being to whom I would go for aid. I will come to 
you, when I cannot help myself ; but now it is the only com- 
fort I can know that I may be able to make right the wrong 
done by my own folly.” 

Berkely looked sadly at her poor worried face. 

“ It is sixteen hundred and fifty dollars. I only borrowed 
fifteen,’ she said. “ What am I to understand by this ?” 

“ I thought it was two thousand,” said Berkely, foolishly. 

She looked up quickly, and her eyes gleamed like living 
coals. 

“ Did he tell then ? Is there no spark of manhood left in 
his cowardly soul ?” 

She dashed the .paper she had crumpled upon the ground, 
and held her hands before her face. 

“ Miserable wretch. I am sick with shame for him,” she 
cried, shuddering. 

Berkely would have given a good deal to recall his words, 
but could not without acknowledging that he had overheard 
the actress tell her story ; so feeling wretchedly uncomfort- 
able, he too looked upon the ground in silence. 

Bess Saunders stepped across the floor and stood gazing 
for a moment out on the darkening twilight in the street 5 


98 


THE MOKEISONS. 


tlicri slio came back again, in a little time, and her voice was 
low and intense as she spoke : 

“ Will 3’ou please not speak about — about what you know 
— it makes me sick at soul. You see how I strive to tram- 
ple out such thoughts, if I did not they would kill me.” 

She stopped an instant, and made the effort of swallowing, 
but her throat seemed dry. 

“ I will have the money to-morrow ; it would not do to 
wait till then — the strangers are here. I must go out ; how 
shall I do so without my aunt’s missing me ?” 

“ Will you not let me save you trouble said Berkely, 
earnestly. “ Why cannot I go 

“ I’ll tell you the truth,” she said, hastily. “ I have, as I 
said, a small property that — that I have been offered a thousand 
dollars for, but had a silly desire never to sell. I shall take it 
to the jeweller’s to-night. Yes, it is jewelry, so you see it is no 
deiuMvation ; and if I have that much, I can easily give you the 
rest. I will give it to you to-morrow morning, and you’ll spare 
me so much if you keep those people away from here.” 

Berkely shrank from the idea of such a sale ; but as he tried 
to speak, her look forbade him. 

“ I know what to say now,” she exclaimed, gladly. “ I’ll say 
I forgot the dart for Nell’s hair, and so I did.” 

She ran past him and quickly up the stairs. In an instant 
she returned, fastening her cloak around her. 

“ God bless you, Berkely Morrison,” she said, as she stopped 
one moment to hear his energetic protest against her decision ; 
but she closed the door after her, and flew down the steps just 
as the tea-bell sounded. 


BESS ACTS A PLAY. 


99 


CHAPTER XI 

BESS ACTS A PLAY. 

“ Well I declare it seems as if we were not having our sup- 
per at all, since Bess is away,” said Mrs. Morrison, as she ran 
every one’s cup over into their saucer, and disproportioned the 
sugar and cream, to Uncle Terry’s great annoyance. 

“ It was just like her to go after that thing to be stuck in 
your head, Nell, tliough you need it no more than yon do a tliird 
eye. Ellen, will yon see that sometliing’s kept warm for Miss 
Saunders and Jenny ? Mind what'She told you about seeing to 
the jelly she’s making for to-morrow night.” 

“ I wish,” said Katie, seriously, “ that Bess would consent to 
buy more confectionery, and not bother with making it. Of 
course we will need a great deal during the visit, and why she 
persists in buying only the pyramids, and things of that sort, 
and making everything, like cakes and jellies, I don’t pretend 
to explain.” 

“ Bess is economical,” said Uncle Terry, briefly. 

Katie and Nelly laughed outright at the idea. 

“ Bess is twice as bad at spending money as we are ; yet she 
contrives to impress mother and uncle with the belief that she’s 
miserly. I wish I possessed that kind of tact, Berkcly, that 
enables one to do as they please, and impress others with the 
idea they’ve been self-denying.” And Katie sighed in a co(inet- 
tish way as who should say, “ Pm too natural to be anything 
but myself.” 

I think you’re both right,” said Berkely, looking at Nelly 
and Uncle Terry. “ In some things, Miss Saunders seems prodi- 
gal — in others, singularly careful ; but her prodigality is always 
where other’s comforts are considered ; her economy where her 
own care and labor can take the place of expense.” 

“ I wish,” said Nell, approvingly, “ that we could always take 
time to discriminate so wisely when we arraign cousin Bess. 


100 


THE MOKRISONS. 


Katie and I are too apt to put down as odd and eccentric any 
thing we are too lazy or selfish to do ourselves.” 

‘'Take care, Nell, take care, lass,” cried Uncle Terry, in 
affected horror ; “ if you talk that way, I shall feel I have lost 
ye forever. Faith, an hour of that kind of discourse would 
alter ve, so that the mother that bore ye wouldn’t know her 
child.” 

The door-bell rang. 

“ Run quick, Jenny,” said Mrs. Morrison. “ It’s Bess, and 
the night’s too cold to keep her waiting on the step.” 

It was Bess, but she had given Jenny the little package for 
Nelly, and gone up to her own room. Nelly caught it from 
Jenny’s hand, and undoing the box, regarded it with enthusiasm. 

“It’s perfectly beautiful,” she cried ; “and just as Berkely 
says, a great deal handsomer than Bess would have got for her- 
self. These are positively diamonds in the point, tiny little ones, 
but then they glitter beautifully.” 

“Let me see,” said Katie. “Wouldn’t that elegant little 
branch I wear, be as becoming to you as this, and you might lend 
it to me to fasten my braids. It suits braids so much better 
than curls.” 

“ Does it, Katie !” laughed Nell. “ Oh, you bamboozling 
creature ; but I’m up to your games, and I’ll wear it myself if I 
live. Your elegant little branch suits your style, you know, and 
I couldn’t tliink of your giving it up on my account.” 

“ Don’t be low, Nell,” said Katie, severely. “ One can’t make 
a suggestion to you, without you relapsing into slang.” 

Mrs. Morrison arose. “ Are you going to sit in the parlor 
to-night, or just keep it in the order it’s in, till Larry comes to- 
morrow ?” she asked. 

“Just as Bess says,” said Katie, resignedly. 

“ I’ll step up with a cup of tea to Bess, as she’s not coming 
down,” said her mother. “ Stay where you are till I ask her.” 

In a minute or two Mrs. Morrison returned, saying that 
“ Bess seemGd someway fliustered with the cold, and felt so bad 
with a pain in her head, that she could take no supper, not even 
a drop of tea.” 


BESS ACTS A PLAY. 


101 


“ Well/'* said Katie, on liearing tliis, “ I must say tliat I en- 
tirely disapprove of Bess’s taking ether for inguialgia, to the ex- 
tent she does ; she never had neuralgia at ^11 tul lately, and I 
don’t see that the medicine she takes improteMfer health.” 

“ How does Bess know it’s neuralgia that ails her ?” said Tin 
cle Terry. “ If I were you, Peggy, I’d have a doctor to the girl 
and find out what’s wearing on her, for she’s not herself, no. 
hasn’t been for weeks.” 

Katie looked up quickly and caught Nelly’aeye,. Berkely saw 
them exchange a glance that told of a new ittexiawning in each 
mind. 

Mrs. Morrison, wi^out ^i^yH»m-ht on the case, shook her head, 
mournfully. ; \ 


“ It would be a 
uncle dear, did you' 


id day for ^l if anything befell Bess. Oh, 
^k any^ng serious was the matter, that 


you spoke as you did ?” 

“ I thought that the girl overworked herself, that’s all,” said 
shortly ; “ I didn’t think she’d die of it, nor yet did 
^^thinfejt right to have her go on slaving day and night. Ellen 
' O’TooW ’ll be better than a doctor, I dare say.” 

^‘'I^haw, uncle,” said Katie, pursing up her lips, “ you can be 
very dull when you try. Larry was a very handsome fellow, and 
mother manoeuvred to make him fancy Bess till Bess fancied he did, 
I suppose. It’s disappointed vanity bothers her, depend upon it.” 

Kelly blushed, and looked displeased at her sister’s bold speech, 
but Berkely felt every nerve in his body tingle, as her mother 
glowered at her with terrified wonder. 

“ Katie Morrison,” ^e cried, faintly, “ don’t say that again ; 
don’t, if you value my life or rest. There’s been but one stay 
forme to lean on in this weary business, and that is, Bess’s being 
heart-whole through the whole of it. Katie, I warn you to keep 
your tongue between your teeth.” Her voice rose excitedly, and 
her face expressed great emotion. “ You don’t know that you 
and yours should feel the wrong he meant to do her ; and that 
her being unharmed is God’s blessing, no mercy of Larry’s, who 
aimed at her heart as surely as if he had had a knife iu his 
hand 1” 


102 


THE MOERISONS. 


Trembling violently, she still kept a stern eye on her daughter, 
who said, deprccat^ly : 

“ I was very'^foolish to speak ; I might have known that it 
would make a sc"^^ and I beg Cousin Berkely’s pardon for treat- 
ing him to one ” 

Before Berkely could reply, her mother retorted : 

“ Since Berkely heard your hints, it is but right that he should 
hear them answered. I never strove to make Larry love Bess, 
but when he told rne that slie was the one thought of liis life, I 
own it was glad news to me. I never trusted him, knowing well 
what a weather-cock he was ; but I did hope, for his own sake, 
that he would be true that onco.^/^'She nev^’ breathed his name 
to me except in all your hearing ; I could ojdy guess that they 
had pledged themselves, and yo^ know what a blow the tidings 
Berkely brought us, were to me. '"^tliuig-dbut her calmness gave 
me courage to get used to it ; but I tell you now, that Larry 
M^)rrison’s bride, that you’re all going daft about receiving and 
feasting, is a woman to be pitied. A man untrue to one 
and that one Bess Saunders, will never make another happy ; > 
mind the words I’m telling you I” 

Every one sat silent and distraught. Mrs. Morrison’s words 
were forcibly uttered, and her usually happy face was dark and 
clouded. U ncle Terry turned a little book he held, over and over 
in liis hands, with his eyes on the ceiling. Katie looked injured 
but gentle, and sat with folded hands, silently enduring her mo- 
ther’s frown. 

Nelly was the only one who gave vent to any feeling, and hers 
was an odd emotion, for having been busy from the first, blush- 
ing and biting her lips, she at last burst into an unexplained flood 
of tears, and hid her face on her uncle’s shoulder. Berkely said 
nothing ; there was nothing he could say that was better than 
silence. At Uncle Terry’s first, effort to converse on indifferent 
subjects, he got up, went up stairs, saying that he would like to 
have his cousins look at some parian figures he had bought that 
day lor the what-not. With that excuse, he bounded up stairs, 
three steps at a time, till he came in front of Bess’s door, and 
there he paused irresolute. There was not a sound audible, but 


BESS ACTS A PLAT. 


103 


somehow Berkely felt that she was not asleep. The light shining 
in the hall below, made only a faint twilight wliere he stood. 
Taking a card from his pocket, he leant over the balusters for 
light, and wrote upon it hastily. Ilis message covered, the one 
side and went over on the other, and, being completed, lie thrust 
it under the door, giving a slight rap to attract her attentio 
to it. 

He staid in his own room some little time unpacking the orna 
meuts he spoke of from the boxes in which they had been sent 
home, and pausing every moment to listen for a movement be- 
low. He heard none, however, and presently went down with 
his parcels. 

On reaching the dining-room door, he heard hilarious laughter 
and merry-making, very unlike the scene he had left ; entering, 
he found Bess to be the cause of it, and her aunt, whom he had 
left the image of gloom, was leading the chorus of merriment. 

“ Will ye look at her, Berkely,” she cried ; “ isnT she the per- 
fect morrow of old jNIolly McFadden that used to come begging 
to your grandfather’s ? Oh, then, but I’m daft to ask you if 
you mind her, when \ou were born here, and never saw the place 
at all ; but do you know when she came in, rigged out in that 
way, I could have been sworn it was old Peggy.” 

Bess had put on the entire dress of an old crone that was to 
be one of the features in Uncle Terry’s comic tableau, and, slip- 
ping down the back stairway, had knocked at the kitchen door, 
and for a moment deceived them all. 

“ An’ us thinking her laid up with a headache, and worried 
enough to send off for a doctor,” said her aunt. “ Oh, Bess, you 
rogue you, but I’m glad to see it’s only your capefs.” 

“ If it hadn’t been for Nelly’s eyes, I’d have told all youi’ for- 
tunes, and got my supper in payment, for which I’m really raven- 
ous,” said Bess. “ Nell, you’re eyes are too sharp, and I’m an- 
gry with you for it.” 

“ i^o, Bess dear,” said Nelly, whose eyes were red as well 
as sharp, fur she had treated herself, apparently, to a pro- 
longed fit of crying ; “ it was your light hair I saw ; you for- 
got the wig, and the cap wasn’t pulled low enough.” 


104 : 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ Never mind,” said Bess, looking directly at Katie ; “ Pll 
do it again wlien Larry comes. I do want to have a joke 
with Larry, for he appreciates fun in his very soul. You’ll 
help me, Nell, and I’ll tell him his fortune, and make him 
stare with wonder. But we’ll choose a time when Mrs. Lar- 
ry is at her friends ; the dear, pretty lady would be fright- 
ened with our rough Irish tricks, and that would be too 
bad.” 

“ Oh, never heed her,” said Mrs. Morrison ; “ if she’s too 
fine for us, she’s too fine for Larry, and the sooner she gets 
over it the better. Bess, do you know what I’m thinking 
of ? why, just, this, that Berkely would go off laughing if he 
saw you and Larry dance the Shugo-shoo reel, that you went 
through with on Uncle Terry’s birth-night, when old Dr. Da- 
cey and the Littles’ grandfather were here. Berkely, of all 
the dancing 3'ou ever saw, that beats it, and so you’ll say if 
we can only persuade Bess to do it.” 

“ I’m ready enough, aunt, if Larry isn’t too grand to help 
me. But we’ll surely frighten the bride with our jigs.” 

“Never fear,” said her aunt, stoutly; “and I’m glad 
enough you’re down to-night, Bess, it will be our last quiet 
one for awhile, and I felt lost without you.” 

Nelly had been mysteriously busy in the kitchen, she now 
entered with a tray, and triumphantly placed it before her 
cousin. 

“ Bess, did you think I could do that ?” she asked. “ Just 
look and see if you could have got a nicer tea yourself; and 
here comes Ellen with the pot : shall I pour it ?” 

“ How kind you are, Nell,” said Bess, gratefully. “ Shall 
I offend you, good people, if I sit down in this trim ?” 

“Not a bit,” said Nelly. “Pretend, Bess, that I was a 
Lady Bountiful and you a poor old scavenger, will you, just 
or fun ? Come, my poor creature,” she continued, in a lofty 
strain, “ pray diaw near and refresh yourself. What weary 
miles you must have wandered over the wind-haunted mooi; 
ere you reached our castle gates.” 

“ Oh, thin, may the love-light of Ilivin dawn on yer swatc 


BESS ACTS A PLAY. Iu5 

beautiful hid,” croaked Bess, with her mouthful : “ an^ if it 
wasn’t for yer angel goodness, this blissid night, that tuck 
me in an’ saved me from starvin’, wid could and hunger, it’s 
warrum in purgatory I might be by this time, and not for- 
ninst yer ladyship’s prisence.” 

“ Isn’t it a pity some manager don’t pick up Nell and Bess 
to do low comedy ?’’ asked Katie of Bcrkely, as she helped 
him to unwrap the statuettes. 

“ Oh, don’t show them, Mr. Morrison, till I get done my 
supper,” cried Bess. “ I want to go into ecstacies, for I’ve 
caught sight of a Sabrina, and she is such a favorite of mine.” 

“ Then hurry, Bess,” said Katie ; “don’t eat heartily now, 
and let us all have some of your cake and jelly by and-bye.” 

Obedient to this suggestion, Bess made haste and ran up 
stairs, to throw off her disguise. Berkely saw that she had 
only made a pretense of eating, and, under the plea of need- 
ing the table, he gathered up the tray and carried it out to 
Ellen, who received it, saying ; 

“ Troth, she harn’t stuffed hersilf this time any way.” 

Bess was only gone a minute or two, till she came back, 
eager to look at Berkely ’s purchase. Besides the Sabrina, 
there was a Ceres, with her torch ; a Psyche, a Juno, and a 
little group of Graces. Statuary was a real delight to Bess, 
and her admiration was natural and enthusiastic. Berkely 
had a way of giving things to the house, so as to repudiate 
any thanks or objection. 

“ You’re just throwing your money about like water,” 
said his aunt, censoriously. “ Berkely, I’ll not suffer 3^ou to 
buy another ha’p’ worth.” 

“ But these are not for you, aunt ; in fact, they’re not for 
any one, but just to put in the parlor, you know ; so I really 
don’t see why’ you should mention it at all.” 

“ Except to say how very, very pretty they are — that is 
not interdicted, Mr. Morrison,” said Bess : “ and I do think 
I shall have to take a week of critical survey to realize all 
their beauty.” 

“Don’t begin now^ Bess, fur it’s getting on in the evening, 


106 


THE MOERISONS. 


and if we are to have a taste of your quality in jelly, we 
must prepare the entertainment at once.” 

“ Yes, and do you know,” said Katie, coinciding with her 
sister’s plea for despatch, “ every one looks the worse for be- 
ing up late, and light-complexioned people particularly; so 
after our working so hard, we actually demand rest, you 
know, before we’re presentable.” 

The jelly was pronounced excellent, and such an inroad 
made into Bess’s store-room of delicacies, that she was 
obliged to enter a protest against the appreciation of the 
family. 

Berkely felt singularly happy, he could not for the life of 
him say why, but it seemed as if some impalpable weight or 
dread had been raised from his spirits. He sat beside Nelly, 
who, for her uncle’s convenience, had drawn a little, light 
stand over for his glass of jelly and plate of cake to rest on. 

“ Let us make it a little family party,” said Berkely, edg- 
ing in his dish ; “ I never saw the charm of sitting up straight 
in one’s chair and eating uncomfortably.” 

“ There,” said Bess, despairingly, “ I might as well have 
laid the cloth at once as have you pic-nicing round in the 
corners.” 

“ What an uncomfortably clean creature you are, Bess,” 
said Uncle Terry. “ Berkely, I warn you that every crumb 
that drops on the carpet is a pound of lead on her heart. If 
iver I had been the victim of matrimony, it would have 
been a jewel like Katie, I’d have chosen. There she sits 
smiling and easy with the bits of cake dropped about her, and 
the nuts she spilt, reposing where they fell. 

Bess cast a distracted look towards the pattern in the car- 
pet obscured by the almonds, and seemed to calculate the 
instant production of a broom ; but catching Berkely’s syra- 
pathiidng eye, she laughed, 

“ \V<dl, I suppose I am uncomfortable, uncle,” she said 
“ but just U) show you that I can mortify myself, here I’ll sit 
widioui even a glance at the carpet.” 

Mrs. Morrison brought over her chair to Berkely’s side. 


BESS ACTS A PLAY. 


lOT 


Somehow Pm puzzled to know what kind of young lady 
Larry’s wife will be,” she said. “ We’ll see her soon enough ; 
but Berkely, dear, if you can give me an idea of what sort of 
lady we have to expect, it’ll be a relief to me.” 

Berkely glanced anxiously over at Bess, who came and 
leaned on her aunt’s shoulder. 

“ She’s very beautiful to begin with, is she not, Mr. Mor 
risen ?” she asked. 

“ Ver 3 %” said Berkely, and then he stopped hesitatingly. 

It is so difficult to do justice to a young lady who was pre- 
sented to me as the only member of her husband’s family she 
had ever seen. She could not have looked prettier or appear- 
ed more gracefully embarrassed. 1 scarcely remember any- 
thing she said except her anxiety about you, aunt.” 

“ How anxiety about me ?” repeated Mrs. Morrison. “ In- 
deed, then, I see no reason why she should have been troubled 
for me.” 

“ Then it is because you don’t wish to see, aunt,” said Bess, 
severely. “ Poor girl, it is very natural that she should be 
most interested in the person who should henceforward be so 
near a connection. Her husband’s mother, of course, will be 
the one she will be most desirous to please, and I heartily pity 
Larry’s bride, in having such a flinty-hearted mother-in-law.” 

Mrs. Morrison laughed good-humoredly. 

“ O, then, if you take up cudgels for her, she’ll need nc 
other ffiend, Bess,” said she. “ Katie,” she added, signifi- 
cantly, “ may be you had better go up to your bed, while the 
rest of us sets things to rights. What with your bothering 
yourself about things no one but yourself could see, and 
worrying one way and another, you must be tired.” 

Nell laughed boisterously. 

“ Take that as a reminder, Katie,” she said. “ You stirred 
mother up a little while ago, and she’s giving you a tap of 
her claw now.” 

Katie frowned on her reprovingly, and took up her plate 
and glass. 

“ I’ll put away my share of the feast, Bess, and to startle 


108 


THE MOUKISON& 


1113^ amiable sister, Til actually brush up the crumbs which 
she proceeded to do. 

‘‘ Had we not better make out a route of the procession 
that will meet the strangers to-morrow ?” asked Bess of 
Katie, as she opened the door. “ You know we may possibly 
get entangled. Nell, what do you propose V’ 

“ I suggest that mother, in black silk and a new blond cap, 
should lead off with Uncle Terry in black broadcloth ; that 
they should fall upon Larry's neck and bless him, etc., etc , 
whilst you and Katie and I form ourselves into a graceful 
group around Mrs. Larry, and do the complimentary.” 

“And I,” asked Berkely, in distress, “is there no part for 
me to perform — holding the hats, or handkerchiefs,, or open- 
ing doors ?” 

“ Don’t be impatient ; for I intend you to make a sensation 
on your own account. Listen : the tearful scene on the one 
side, and the charming embarrassment on the other, having 
somewhat subsided, I clap my hands in the most natural 
manner, exclaiming, ‘ Oh, Cousin Berkely ! we have for- 
gotten Cousin Berkely.’ I run to the door at which you ap- 
pear, just having heard the arrival. Then follow renewal of 
compliments, renewal of smiles, blushes, etc., and behold us 
all in chosen attitudes, till the tea-bell rings.” 

“ I’ll leave you thus,” said Bess, yawning, “ for I’m ac- 
tually tired to death, as Katie says.” 

Berkely took up the figures. 

“ Let us put these in the parlor before you go,” he said. 

Bess took up the Graces, and begged Nelly to bring a 
light. 

“ Wait a moment, and I’ll get Ellen’s candle,” she cried, 
running into the kitchen ; while Bess and Berkely waited in 
the hall. 

Mr. Morrison closed the door on them, and being alone, they 
looked at each other for the first time since B«ss had come 
down. The effort she had been making died out of her face 
it became distressed and anxious as it had been when he 
found her in the parlor with the broker 


WEDDKD ELTSS. 


109 


** I must trouble you again to-rnorrow, Mr. Morrison,” she 
said ; “ I am very much worried about that business, and I 
need your advice.” 

“ I am very glad that you will let me serve you.” 

“ Let you,” she repeated in a trembling voice. “ Oh, 
Berkely Morrison, you have read my heart and helped me 
keep its secret, for which I shall love and honor you to my 
life’s end.” 

“ Now, then, here’s this candle of Ellen’s,” said Nelly, re- 
appearing ; “ but we’ll have to light gas, for this is a mere 
glimmer.” 


CHAPTER XII 

WEDDED BLISS. 

The Morrisons were having an early dinner m a promis- 
cuous sort of way on the looked for Tuesday. Berkely, see- 
ing at breakfast signs of a morning of flutter and prepara- 
tion — some oT the family being so engaged giving the last 
touches to the parlor, that they swallowed their coffee stand- 
ing, and sped away to the work — volunteered to dine at a 
hotel in company with Uncle Terry. So it came to pass that 
a cup of tea was drawn, and such dainties as cold ham and 
biscuit were ranged on a leaf of the kitchen table as a sub- 
stitute for that usually plentiful meal. Katie, Nellie, and 
their mother swallowed hasty mouthfuls, wondering mean- 
time if the train w'ould be late or early, and surmising about 
the bride’s dress, manner, voice, etc., with as much interest 
as if the subject had been broached for the first time. 

“Ellen,’’ said Mrs. Morrison, when the young ladies had 
suddenly remembered the time, and darted up to do their 
hair, “ keep the teti-pot on the hearth for Miss Bess, she’s 
putting fresh' ribbons on the toilet in the young people’s 
room, and w ll want a cup before she goes up to <Iress’’ 


110 


THE MOKETSONS. 


“ Troth, thin, but I would wid joy and pleasure,” returned 
JEllen, heartily, “ but what would be the good of my saving 
what she won’t take ; she has no taste in life for aiting, tho’ 
I do be striving to get her to swaliy a mouthful ?” 

Bess opened the kitchen door as she sp.oke : 

“ There’s a carriage turning into the Place,” she cried. 
“ Run, aunt, and get your dress on, for Pm sure it’s Larry.” 

With a distracted cry, Mrs. Morrison took to her heels and 
Bess followed her ; they had scarcely reached the landing 
when the door-bell rang loudly, and a chorus of little 
screams issued from the young ladies leaning over the 
balusters. 

“ They’re come, mother, they’re come I” they cried. “ Isn’t 
it terrible ? Oh, Bess, you must go down — send Ellen, do, 
or they’ll think we’re dead.” 

Bess gave a look at her calico wrapper and Holland apron, 
then glanced up at the morning gowns fluttering above, and 
doggedly said : 

“ I will not go down until I am dressed.” 

“ Not go ?” screamed Katie, as another loud ring woke 
echoes in the hall. 

“ Ellen,” said Bess, descending as that damsel appeared, 
“ show the lady and gentleman into the parlor, and say the fam- 
ily are dressing ; that they did^ not look for them till the next 
train, but will be down presently.” 

With a motion to Ellen to stay her hand till she should be out 
of sight, Bess fled up again to meet a host of indignant whispers 
from the injured girls above. 

“What will they think ?” said Nelly. 

“ And why need you care, Bess, about your appearance ?” said 
Katie. “ I never imagined you were so selfish.” 

Without a syllable in reply, Bess, as white as death, and trem 
bliug in every limb, stood an instant, her lips apart and her eyes 
sti-ained, listening. It was Larry’s voice in the hall below, clear, 
rich and musical, full of a joyous warmth that was like a breath 
of summer. 

“ Where are they ? where are they ?” he cried. “ I must seo 


wp:dded bliss. 


Ill 


them all at once ; it’s not their dresses, but their faces, God 
bless. them, tlia,t I want to see !” 

The parlor door was flung open, and a sweet, girlish tone said, 
“ Pray, don’t leave me but his bounding foot on the stair was 
his only answer. 

Like lightning Bess darted into her room and closed the door 
but Mrs. Morrison ran forward and threw herself, crying, “ Larry 
my own darling Larry,” on the bosom of her only son. 

It never took Bess Saunders long to dress, but she was more 
than usually expeditious to-day ; ten minutes after she had enter- 
ed her room, she left it again, evidently in complete toilet and 
looking very handsome. She ran swiftly down the stairs and 
opened the parlor door ; at the center-table stood a little slender 
figure, exquisitely dressed, that turned at the sound and showed 
her the face of Larry’s wife. 

A beautiful face, very young and full of hope and happiness ; 
soft blue eyes, auburn hair, dressed in ringlets like a girl’s, and a 
rose-bud of a mouth that was as innocent as a baby’s. 

‘‘ Is it Kate or Nelly ?” she asked, timidly, but came fonvard 
with outstretched hands. 

“I am Mr. Morrison’s cousin, Bess Saunders. Katie and 
Nelly will be down in a moment.” 

“ His cousin I O, yes, he told me as we came up in the car- 
riage, that his cousin was staying here. I’m very glad to see you, 
Miss Saunders.” 

“ Staying here,” thought Bess ; but she said aloud, “lam very 
happy to meet you,” and took her hands and kissed her kindly. 
Bess was a tall woman, and her height, for a moment, seemed to 
over-awe the little bride ; she glanced at the door nervously, and 
then at Bess, and finally on the carpet pattern at her feet. 

“ My aunt will be down in a little while,” pursued Bess, and 
she explained the mistake they had made in the hour of their ar- 
rival. 

Mrs. Larry looked confused, and seemed most anxious for tl;e 
presence of her lord, although Bess strove hard to make her man- 
ner gentle and re-assuring. 

A foot-step in the hall, and the door opened ; both turned 


112 


THE MORRISONS. 


anxiously towards it, and Berkely entered. Mrs. Larry sprang V; 
up. “ Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Mr. Morrison,” she cried, and 
ran to him joyfully. He had scarcely time to reply before the 
room was full. Larry came leading in his mother, and his sisters 
followed close in his wake. Mrs. Morrison, tearful and trem 
blliig:, received her new daughter-in-law’s embrace, and the young 
ladies, in their turn, pressed forward and kissed her. Then came 
Uncle Terry, full of pleasant compliments to the bride, and ral 
lied Larry on his sly courtship, and congratulated him on its re 
suits. 

Laughing gaily under his uncle’s badinage, Larry, holding his 
wife’s little hand in his, turned around and suddenly faced Bess 
Saunders. She stood beside his Cousin Berkely, and looked 
bright and animated as she spoke to him. 

“ You were over-looking me, Cousin Larry,” she said, quietly 
smiling. 


Lawrence Morrison was a handsome man, so very handsome 
that it would be impossible to look at him casually, or avoid be- 
ing prejudiced in his favor ; but suddenly he seemed to lose his 
manly figure, his noble style and brilliant expression, and to shrink 
to a humbled, detected sneak. The change was only of an in- 
stant’s duration ; it passed as swiftly as it came ; his color re- 
turned and his laugh with it. 

“ Why, Cousin Bess, forgive me I” he cried, a little boisterous- 
ly ; “I must have been blind indeed, to have over-looked ‘ stately 
queen Bess,’ as Nell and I used to call you when you got miffed 
at us. Juliet, this is my cousin ; ah, you have been introduced ; 
I’m glad of it ; and you’re sure to be friends.” 

He rattled on gaily, but somehow he did not look directly at 
Bess, and, when his sisters conducted his wife to her room to lay 
aside her traveling dress, he took refuge between Berkely and 
Uncle Terry, and got himself immersed in a discussion on the su- 
perior business facilities of New York to ids ow.i city 

Mrs. Morrison turned to Bess. “ She’s a pretty little crea- 
ture,” she said, “ and very amiable.” 

Bess assented heartily 

“ And Larry,” said his mother, looking at him fondly, “ he 


I 


V^'KDDED BLISS. 


113 


looks linp])v and well. Yon were rijrht, ns you al\va 5 's are, in 
saying that niarriagc would improve him. lie’s a gay, thought- 
less lad, and the cares of life will sober him.” 

“ Are you talking of me, mother cried Larry, catching her 
eye ; “ then say something merciful, for I need mercy always.” 

“ Then, indeed, Larry, you would have got little of that same 
for your underhand dealings, if it hadn’t been for Bess here. We 
were .all up in arms against you, but she conquered every objec- 
tion, and I’m telling her she was in the right, for you have 
brought us home a dear, sweet little lady, that no one could find 
fault with.” 

Bess looked composedly at her cousin ; her face grew a shade 
whiter, perhaps, but nothing more. Larry preferred meeting his 
mother’s glance to her’s. 

I’m heartily obliged to Bess,” he said, gaily. “ And so you 
like Juliet, mother ? she’ll be glad to know it, for, to tell you the 
truth, if you’d all been Feejees or Otaheitians, she couldn’t have 
been more alarmed at encountering you.” 

“ And for what, Larry ?” asked his mother, slightly flushed at 
the terms. “ Isn’t it us that should feel strange as well as her ?” 

‘‘ Oh,” said Larry, laughing lightly, “ you know I told her 
you were all old fashioned Irish folk, and, beyond its geographi- 
cal position, Ireland and she are utter strangers. She may have 
seen a farce with an Irish hero, perhaps, and expected to find you 
all flourishing shelalahs, and shouting bedad and bejabers I” 

His mother looked sternly on her merry son. 

“ Didn’t she know that you were born there yourself ?” she 
asked. 

“ Why I really don’t know that I remember it myself,” he 
returned, slightingly ; “ and I don’t think I ever mentioned it to 
her.” 

“ Well, then, Larry Morrison,” said his incensed mother, 
“ mutjh as I love you, I never felt too much trust in you ; and 
if you begin by being ashamed of your native land, I fear it may 
sometime have cause to blush for you. As for thinking myself a 
heathen because I was born among my forefathers. Heaven 
losart me when I blus^i for the same 1” 


114 


THE MJliRISONS. 


“ Aunt,” said Bess, earnestly, pray don’t be unreasonable. 
Lurry thought he was amusing you. No one can admire your 
love of country more than he j it was mere thoughtlessness. 
Say it was, Larry.” 

The door opened, and his wife and sisters returned. She was 
a mass of pearl-colored silk, point lace and delicate ribbons, and 
certainly looked exquisitely pretty in her finery. Bess left her 
aunt’s side and went over to Larry’s sofa. “ Go to your 
mother,” she said to him, in an under tone, which he instantly 
obeyed, leaving his seat at Uncle Terry’s side vacant for his 
wife. Berkely rose and begged her to be seated, and the sisters, 
according to Nelly’s programme of the night before, fell into 
favorite attitudes around her. Berkely made the conversation 
general, and Larry, after a few soothing whispers to his mother, 
drew her into it with him, and made it hilarious. 

Juliet’s innocent ideas of housekeeping, her impracticable plans 
and childlike tastes, all transpired in the pleasant confidence that 
cheerful converse inspires. Uncle Terry, who had apparently won 
the young wife^s heart, gave absurd advice as a new incentive to 
merriment, and Mrs. Morrison, every shadow of vexation gone, 
was the gayest of the gay. 

“But I know I shall make an admirable housewife, Law- 
rence,” cried Juliet, “for I mean to beg one of your sisters to 
come and stay with me and teach me for a while ; they are per- 
fectly inimitable, I know.” 

“ You may well say that,” said Uncle Terry; “ they’re models 
in their way.” 

“ Yes, and I can easily learn ; papa was so fond of music, that 
I have practised late and early, and with that and my other 
studies, have had no time for domestic details, but I really long 
to begin. I went over our house with papa and Aunt Edmonds 
and Lawrence yesterday, and almost fancied myself its mistress, 
full of business and jingling keys already.” 

“ But, Juliet,” said Nell, frankly, “ don’t imagine Katie or I 
know anything sensible about a house. At least I, for one, con- 
fess that my only definite idea of housewifery, is that I had better 
let things alone, or I’ll make a mess of it.” 


WEDHED ELTSS. 


115 


The groat blue eyes opened wide in wonder. 

“ Your mother, then,” she suggested — but Mrs. Morrison 
hastened to say : 

“ Well, my dear, I’m not saying what I was in my day, but I 
have no need to take thought or trouble now, it’s all spared me 
by my third daughter here, who is a head and hands to us all.” 
And she laid her arm fondly round Bessie’s shoulder. 

“ Does Miss Saunders live here ?” asked Juliet, in an innocent, 
surprised way. “ I thought — that is, I understood she was a 
visitor. Or was it a mistake of mine, Lawrence ?” 

Bess caught the look he gave the little childish face turned 
towards him, and from that moment a new feeling dawned in her 
heart for Larry Morrison’s wife — a faint presentiment of some- 
thing to come struck her like an evil wind. 

The look, whatever it expressed to Bess of anger, impatience, 
or a lurking harshness of nature, was inexplicable to his wife, 
who answered it with one of blank astonishment, at which he 
presently ®ughed. 

“ You’ll understand our family arrangements by-and-bye, 
Juliet ; they’re not very intricate, but I dare say I have not been 
clear in my explanation,” he said ; and catching sight of the new 
pictures Berkely had added to the parlor walls, fell to admiring 
them greatly. 

“Your taste, are they not, Bess?” he asked; “they look 
like some I saw you admiring once in the Academy. Juliet, 
your Uncle Edmonds has an engraving of this one to the 
right.” 

“ Mr. Morrison bought those,” said Bess ; “ but I do admire 
them v(?i7 much, and had often looked at them, never dreaming 
we should have the pjeasure of seeing them daily.” 

“ I took them on that recommendation,” said Berkely, simply. 
“ I am lamentably ignorant in art, which I attribute chiefly to 
being obliged to look so long at Chinese painting. I should 
never have dared to take anything on the warrant of my own 
eye ; but I saw Miss Saunders looking at these.” 

Kiltie anil Nelly exchanged glances. 

“ Reallv, Boss,” said Nell, “ for a less agreeable speech than 
8 * 


116 


THE MOERTSONS. 


that I wonlcl do an indefinite anionnt of curtsying and blushing. 
Youh'e an insensible clod.” 

“ Not at all,” said Bess, looking at Berkely with a bright glow 
npon her face. “ Pm truly happy to have gained the sight of 
such favorites, and Mr. Morrison^s kind opinion too.” 

“ Berkely,” asked Larry, suddenly, “ do you live here ?” 

“What a question, Larry,” interposed Nelly. “DoiPt you. 
think we’d be a deserted set if he hadn’t taken pity on us ?” 

“ So,” said Larry, “ you’ve fallen into my place, and are the 
ostensible head of the house.” 

“ You know you made over your room to me when we parted 
in New York, conditional only on gaining the family consent ; 
they couldn’t well refuse me, when I backed my own entreaties 
by your desire.” 

Berkely looked quietly at his cousin to see if he would feign 
surprise or forgetfulness, as his tone denoted ; but he said noth- 
ing in reply, only smiled and showed his exquisitely handsome 
teeth, and then looked over at Bess. # 

Katie and Nelly showed a laudable desire in their dress to 
compete with the brilliance of the bride, and had really made 
themselves look lovely. 

Uncle Terry glanced around admiringly. 

“ Larry,” he whispered, “ look at them, they make a picture ; 

I never saw three prettier faces in all my life.” 

Larry looked up, but his eye did not rest on the group. Bess 
was standing at the window ; she had been about to leave the 
room, and was stopped by Berkely, to whom she was now 
speaking. 

“ She is handsomer than all three put together,” said Larry, ^ 
coolly. “ She has real beauty, the rest is all light and coloring, 
blushing and smiling, and becoming ribbons.” 

“ It’s a wonder you never saw Bess’s beauty sooner,” said the . 
old man,' looking at him keenly. ^ 

“ I don’t remember the time when I didn’t think her the finest 
looking woman I ever saw,” said his nephew, carelessly returning '• 
his glance. 1 

“ Well, you’ve shown a wonderful forethought, considering chej 


WEDDED BLISS. 


117 


race you sprung from, Lnrry, for I hear that Love and Fortune 
made a pair, and drew you to the altar in grand style. Well, 
well,’’ laughed the old man, softly, you’ll be a great man yet, 
for the saying used to be, that all the Morrisons wanted to 
make a figure in the world, was a little thrift and a lookout for 
themselves.” 

His nephew showed no relish for the old man’s compliments, 
but without much ceremony, rose and joined Bess and Berkely, 
who were settling some discussion in a low tone. 

“ Then I will arrange a place for it, and be ready when you 
bring it down,” said Bess, in conclusion ; and, without glancing 
at Larry, left the room. 

Berkely stopped a moment, looking at Larry as if waiting for 
him to speak before he followed her. 

“ As much a housewife as ever, is she not ?” he asked, “ and 
you are favorite aid-de-camp, I oppose.” 

Berkely smiled. “ Miss Saunders is too independent to have 
any aids ; but slie’s a devoted housekeeper, as you say.” 

He hurried off as he spoke, and Larry, hearing by his step 
on the stairs, that he had not followed Bess, turned to his wife, 
who had added Mrs. Morrison and Uncle Terry to the charmed 
circle that surrounded her. 

“Juliet, I’m going to see Jenny Brackett, an ancient enemy 
of mine,” he said. “ Uncle Terry can give you an idea of the 
passages at arms we used to have. I believe I bequeathed my 
antipathy to you, uncle, when I left.” 

“ Faith, then,” said the old gentleman, “ I had wrath enough 
of my own without borrowing. She’s just the thorn in my flesh 
that purifies me by the fire of aggravation daily.” 

Larry glanced along the hall towards the dining-room after he 
had left the parlor ; the door was open, and he caught the flutter 
of Bess’s purple dress within. Hearing his step, she looked up 
in blank surprise from a little table where ^he was arranging 
some flowers. ^ 

“ Am I so great a strangei; that I intrude now, where I used 
to be so thoroughly at home ?” 

Still she gave him no answer, only as she looked at him ; pride 


118 


THE MORRISONS. 


nnd coldness became mixed with her astonislmicnt. liawreiifv 
Morrison was not a man easily abashed, but he turned irresolute, 
and heartily wished he had been less adventurous in his old 
home. Berkely’s entrance relieved him of his embarrassment. 
He carried a pyramid of natural flowers — -japonicas and orange 
blossoms, heliotropes, fuschias and geraniums — a perfect galaxy 
of floral gems. 

“ 0 these are perfectly exquisite,’^ cried Bess, turning an 
entirely different face upon the gentlemen, and giving Larry, who 
was quick at reading faces, a key to her behavior to him. 

“ She will be civil to me in the presence of any one,” he 
thought ; “ the look was to warn me that I must not see her 
alone.” And as soon as he had come to this conclusion, his brow 
cleared. “ She has not conquered the old feeling,” and he 
laughed in his heart ; a vain and evil heart it was. 

“ You were to know nothing about this,” said Bess, laughing; 
“ it was a delicate recognition of your wedded bliss, and was to 
burst upon you from the centre of the table, when the tea-bell 
rung. But if people won’t allow themselves to be surprised, 
then people must take the consequence.” 

“ People, that is I, shall enjoy seeing you arrange these lovely 
flowers,” said Larry, in the friendliest tone ; “ and Juliet, for 
whom the compliment is best suited, will be delightfully surprised. 
We are both of us very grateful to the taste that suggested it,” 
he added, bowing towards Bess. 

“ It was Mr. Morrison’s idea,” she returned, quietly, as she 
fastened some myrtle sprays so as to give them the appearance 
of falling from the tall vase, around which she was twining 
wreaths of roses and heliotropes. “ Did he not select them 
tastefully? yet he tells me he had almost forgotten their 
names,” she added. 

She was so intent on her work, that Larry found himself at a 
disadvantage ; so he forgot entirely his idea of stirring up 
Jenny, and wandered back into the parlor, where the ladies 
were getting on famously. 

Lounging on the sofa, he called Uncle Terry to his aid to kill 
time till the tea-bell rang, which it presently did. Springing upj 


WEDDED BLISS. 


119 


he gave his mother his arm, and Berkely, who had just come into 
the parlor, led out Mrs. Larry, and the girls took possession of 
Uncle Terry. Bess, in the dining-room, stood like the goddess 
of welcome, glowing and smiling above a very unfashionably 
well-spread board. Mrs. Morrison’s notion of a tea combined an 
assortment of delicacies, ornamental and substantial, that no 
doubt astonished her elegant daughter-in-law. The board 
groaned under the dishes, yet everything was tastefully disposed, 
and looked temptingly nice. 

“ This is my old seat,” cried Larry, impulsively ; “ I’ll take it 
while I stay, and you can put Juliet where you will.” 

“ That’s Berkely ’s place, Larry,” said Nell ; “ Bess has given 
you these seats at mother’s right hand.” 

“ I shall keep this one, even if I risk disarranging Bess’s im- 
maculate plans. By Jove ! I shall think, by-and-by, that I’ve 
sold my birth-right to Berkely ; he has my old room, my old 
privileges, my old seat, my old friends,” — he glanced covertly at 
Bess — “ and if I have kept my own name it is all I can hope 
to do.” 

“ You’ve parted with a portion of it yourself,” said Berkely, 
laughing ; “ to Mrs. Morrison, I mean,” he added. 

It fell. out thus, that the evening they had planned as so very 
pleasant, had some mal-apropos turns in it, and when they ad- 
journed from the tea-table to the parlor, the girls ardently long- 
ed for the Daceys to drop in, as they had promised. Bess did 
her utmost to draw the bride into conversation, but signally fail- 
ed ; there was something impassable between them, a barrier that 
Juliet seemed timidly conscious of, and shrunk away from. 

Berkely came to the rescue in a happy stroke that set them all 
at ease. 

“ Mrs. Morrison, you remember your promise to me in New 
York ?” he said. “ May I ask you to fulfill it here ? Aunt, you 
will be charmed, I know, for you like music so much. Shall I 
open the piano ?” 

Mrs. Larry smiled and blushed ; it was her one accomplish- 
ment, and she was nothing loathe to impress her new family fa- 


120 


THE MORRISONS. 


vorably, while jtliey, on their part, were delighted to be enter- 
tained. 

“ I can sing ballads, if you prefer them,” she said, turning to 
her mother-in-law, as Berkely led her to the piano. 

“ Can you, then ?” said Mrs. Morrison, eagerly. “ It’s many 
a day since I heard a good song, for I would never call tlie 
screeching and la-lalling that our girls do, by the name. Have 
you got a Scotch song ? Do you know the ‘ Braes of Balquith- 
er,’ or ‘ The Bush above Traquaie ?” 

“ Yes ; you can ask me for any Scotch song in Furgueson’s 
collection ; I know them all,” returned Juliet, delightedly. 

‘‘Juliet, begin with Moore; I like him best,” said Larry, 
stretching out his length on the sofa, near his mother. His wife 
gianced at him, and, striking a few chords, began the accompa- 
niment of “ Love’s Young Dream.” 

“ Ah, the days are gone when beauty bright 
My heart’s chain wove ; 

When my dream of life, from morn till night, ■ 

Was love, still love.” 

Sang Larry’s young bride, and looked with timid fondness over 
lier shoulder at her lord, who lay with his mother’s hand in his, 
looking as innocently happy as a child. 

But it was to be a gay evening after all ; in the midst of Ju- 
liet’s second song, the door-bell began to ring, and the Daceys 
Wi-re announced ; then followed the Littles, Miss Parker and her 
cousin, Mr. Harrington, and, before the introductions were con- 
cluded, Mr. and Mrs. Lindley were added to the party. 

The ladies were dressed in the most elegant costume in honor 
of the bride, and, without much persuasion, laid aside their bon- 
nets for the evening. Music was again resorted to, and this time 
Mrs. Larry gave them Sonatas, songs without words, and gems 
from Beethoven and Meyerbeer ; then Mrs. Lindley and Carrie 
Littlq sang duets, and Katie played for Adah Parker and Nelly 
to do a scene from the Barber of Seville, which was pronounced 
a capital imitation of two favorite opera singers, and greatly ap- 
plauded by all. 


WEDDED BLISB. 


121 


Meantime, Bess and Dr. Dacey fell quietly into their usual 
corner talk, and Larry renewed the charm he had always swayed 
over his mother’s house. 

Bess cared but little for flowers or music, those two elements 
of womanly loveliness of mind. She thought them pretty and 
pleasant, but to long for them, or revel in them, never entered hei^ 
brain. Dr. Dacey ’s conversation was a luxury to her, that would 
have been as inexplicable to others, as a passion for insensible ob- 
jects was to her. To sit near him, following his quick, spare- 
worded explanations of some grand chemical truth ; to be the 
confident of his experiments, the admirer of his discoveries, was 
all a pleasure so pure as to cancel some of the stings that made 
her set a watch upon her heart lest the world might see its writh- 
ings. The measure of the music changed, and suddenly she saw 
the bride whirl by her in a waltz with Mr. Harrington ; Larry 
followed with Adah Parker, and then came Nelly and Miss Lit- 
tle, making that most deplorable spectacle of two ladies waltzing 
together. 

Dr. Dacey glanced round and sighed. 

“ Ah I well, there’s an end to our talking. Miss Saunders,” he 
said ; “ the signs of the times foretell that you will quietly slip 
away, and presently the house will be fragrant with the odor of 
coffee.” 

“ You are wrong in one thing, doctor,” said Bess, smiling ; 
“ you shall not smell coffee to-night. Wines and weddings are 
inseparable, and you shall have some fine port that Mr. Berkely 
Morrison vouches for.” 

Where the highly respectable colored person came from, or af- 
terwards disappeared to, who, in process of time, brought in a 
tray of delicacies and gravely waited on the company, was a se- 
cret of Bess’s own ; but such a person did appear, to the pro- 
found astonishment of Mrs. Morrison, and even the momentary 
distrad:^ion -of-her in[q^erturbaJale:^«^r’^ff6 MWa^ considered th 
sacrifices of others a matter of course. 

“ Mother,” he said in an undertone, as he brought over his 
wine glass to her sofa, “ Bess has increased the establishment, I 
sec j how did you conquer her ideas of economy 


122 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ Yes ; and I was struck dumb when I saw the black,” returm 
cd his mother in a whisper ; “ but how he came’s a mystery to 
me, for she never named him.” 

“ There’s a woman in the kitcheu^' too,” resumed Larry, in a 
ca reless tone, but he watched his mother’s face as if he had some 
interest in her reply. 

“ That’s Ellen O’Toole ; she’s been working for us at odd 
times till last week, and then Bess agreed with her to come and 
stay the winter through. Bess looks well enough, but she’s been 
ailing with some disease of the nerves this long while. Ever since 
your Cousin Berkely came home, in fact.” 

Larry’s e}'es fastened themselves on Bess’s face as she stood 
opposite him, talking to his wife, but he could read no confirma- 
tion of his mother’s words there. 

“ Was her illness sudden ?” he asked at last. 

“ Yes,” said his mother — “ I cannot say it did come on her 
quickly, but I think she took cold, for she was up late and 
l otlnred about getting your old room ready for Berkely.” 

Larry said nothing, but he thought “ That was the night 
she naid the letter — the little cheat to pla^^ off on me, that 
she forgets it all, and thinks I cannot see through her.” 

The day that began so unpropitiously, ended in great mer- 
riment ; there are few women who are not satisfied with the 
society that elects them its belle, and as Mrs. Larry Morri- 
son discovered in the devotedly admiring looks of the gentle- 
men, and the yielding agreeableness of the ladies, that she was 
acknowledged supremely prettjq she was in high good humor 
with them all. It was a trophy of family success that Larry 
should have secured so lovely a wife; so the girls were de- 
lighted too. Uncle Terry really loved young people, and had 
a solid enjoyment in looking on at their gayety that he would 
iK'ver liave confessed. Mrs. Morrison, to use her own phrase, 
was too glad “ that things were as they were,” to complain, 
^so all were genially gay, as the “ good-nights” were said. 

“ And now, as Juliet must be thoroughly tired, let us say 
good-night too,” said Katie, taking her hand ; Mrs. Larry 
rose and her husband followed her. 


WEDDED BLISS. 


123 


“ Don’t trouble the girls,” he said, I’ll show you the way.’ 

The pretty little face dutifully held itself up to Mrs. Mor- 
rison for a maternal kiss. 

“ Good-night to you, dear,” she said, and put her lips to 
her cheek — but Mrs. Morrison sighed after she did it, and 
gave an unconscious glance towards Bess. 

“ Well,” said Nell, after they had gone, sitting down with 
an evident intention to review, “ what do you all think of 
Miss Waters that was, Mrs. Morrison that is?” 

“ She’s pretty and stylish,’^ said Kate, critically, “ but her 
music is really nothing, to have been made the study of a 
life.” 

“ You say that, Katie, because Mr. Little went into rap- 
tures over her expression, and said that pretty thing about 
those tiny fingers rendering the ponderous old masters so 
grandly. She plays well, you know she does, and as far as 
being lovely and ornamental is concerned, has no fault that 
I can see.” 

Nelly, something has demented you; I can’t tell what 
you mean, dashing at conclusions, and giving people motives. 
I merely spoke of Juliet’s music from my own idea of the 
science ; I know what playing is, and I know nothing of any 
nonsense Mr. Little maybe pleased to deliver himself of.” 

“There’s too many ribbons about her,” said Mrs. Morrison 
at length, with a deep sigh. “ What would the like of that 
French doll do in sickness or trouble ? Larry should have 
bespoke his sunshine for life, when he married a butterfly.’^ 

“ That’s not fair,” said Bess, rising. “ Why should you 
expect a gentle, lovely young creature to exhibit strength of 
endurance or determination at an evening party, when 
every characteristic except those she displayed would have 
been very much out of taste ? I never saw such perversity *, 
if she had been any other than she was, you could have seeu 
her faults, and not been obliged to imagine them for her.” 

Berkely hastened to say good-night as things reached this 
pass, and he had scarcely entered the hall when Bess opened 
the door, and came out, not to go up stairs, however, for she 


124 


THE MORRISONS. 


went into the dining-room and called Ellen to give orders for 
the breakfast. 

When Berkely opened his door, ho found his room so warm 
that he left it standing wide. Jenny Bracket had evidently 
visited his stove, and prepared it to withstand a Polar night ; 
so lowering his window to make a draught, he walked up 
and down with his hands in his pockets, stopping once as he 
heard his cousins come up stairs. 

They waited an instant to say good-night, as they saw his 
door open, and to join him in eulogizing Jenny^s sagacity in 
making his room an oven, and then went into their chamber. 

Mrs. Morrison^s leisurely tread ascended next, and by-and- 
bye he heard Larry open his door, and coming out into the 
hall, say to his wife : 

“ ril take my cigar into the. dining-room and finish it.” 

Berkely had a reason of his own for seeing Larry, so he 
tiiought, “ This is my time,” — for what he had to say would 
not keep. 

Down he came, softly, because he did not care to disturb ‘ 
the family, and so gained the hall without a sound. In the 
parlor the lights were still burning brightly, and through the 
door ajar he saw Larry in a rich cashmere gown, standing 
in the centre of the room, wdiile Bess, with the piano cover in 
her hand, stood before him. She had evidently been ar- 
ranging its tumbled folds, when his presence had startled 
her ; and when Berkely saw them, he was speaking : 

“ Why in the name of sense do you act thus to me,' Bess ?” 
he said ; “ give me an opportunity of explaining to you all 
that seems strange now, and I arn sure that this absurd mis- 
understanding will melt away like smoke.” 

She did not speak — but very white and distressed looking, 
waved him away with her trembling hand. 

Berkely had stood an instant irresolute as to whether to 
go up or make his presence known. 

Bess saw ai.d relieved him of his perplexity. 

“ Mr. Morrison,” she said, speaking for the first time, 
“ pray come iu.” 


WEDDED BLISS. 


125 


Berkely hesitated a moment, feeling* strangely confused; 
but her look of entreaty determined him and he obeyed. 

Larry turned round angrily, and holding Ids cigar between 
his finger and thumb, viewed him from head to foot with 
suspicious impudence. 

“ You have a light foot, sir,” he said at last. 

“ I came down hearing you leave your room, because I 
wished to speak to you, Larry,” said Berkely, reddening with 
annoyance under the look. “ I tell you on my honor that I 
had no idea of Miss Saunders being here.” 

“ Mr. Morrison,” said Bess, interrupting him, “ I am glad 
you are here. Will you do me the favor to hear what I must 
say to your cousin ?” She stopped, and made the effort of 
swallowing once or twice, as if something choked her. 
Larry, now whiter than she was, turned angrily on 
Berkely. 

“ I positively object to Mr. Morrison’s in any wise inter- 
fering in my affairs,” he said : “ if he is a gentleman, he will 
leave the room.” 

Bess stepped round and set her back against the door. 
Her eyes absolutely glared, fierce and black, in her ghastly 
face. 

“ Do not move, either of you,” she said, hoarsely ; “ and 
you, Larry Morrison, mark my words. For the sake of your 
mother, I bear the indignity of your presence in this house ; 
for her sake I’ve endured a torture that, if it were in Hea- 
ven’s service, I should call it martyrdom ; but for the sake 
of no one under heaven, shall I suffer the insult of your 
approaching me in confidence, or in anywise referring to the 
past — that is over and dead. This man” — she indicated 
Berkely with her outstretched hand — “ saw its ghost, but no 
one else ever knew from me that it had existed” He in- 

terrupted her. 

“ You chose a fitting confident,” he said, jeeringly ; but 
handsome as his face was, it looked wickedly ugly in his 
anger. “ What was that little group I heard you praise to- 
night, Bacchus, consoling Ariadne, w^as it not ?” He laughed. 


126 


THE MORRISONS. 


and shook the ashes from his cigar. “ You always had a 
classical taste you know.’’ 

Berkely sprang forward with an upraised arm. 

“ Speak another word in that tone, Lawrence Morrison,^ 
he said, trembling with indignation, “ and I’ll knock 3’oa 
down at her feet to beg her pardon.” 

Larry stepped back, and Bess suddenly controlled herself. 

“ This is all folly,” she said, quietly. “ I have no right to 
bring j^ou into this petty business, Mr. Morrison, but it is 
necessary that your cousin should understand me. I have 
asked him to remember the one point on which I will be 
obe^'ed ; that is all I have to say to him. Gentlemen” — she 
looked from one to the other, a gentle, dignified, beautiful 
woman, with all passion and excitement gone from her face — ■ 
“ I wish you good-night.” 

She went out, and Berkely stood where she had left him, 
waiting to bear what answer Larry might vouchsafe to his 
threat. 

He was w^alking coolly up and down the room, but after a 
few turns he paused, and looking at Berkely with slightly 
upraised brows, laughed good-humoredly, and held out his 
hand. Berkely looked at him in return, but did not 
take it. 

• “ Come, come, Berkely, don’t let us be fools ; don’t you see 
I’m a little sore about my old fancy ? Bess and I were lovers 
once, but interest — duty — regard for my family.” — he jerked 
. off these excuses with a toss of his head and a shrug of his 
shoulders, and added, resignedly : “ Whatever is, is right ; 
but I wanted to be friends with Bess, and felt cut at yo\ir 
supremacy.” 

Berkely tried to speak, but astonishment, anger, and con- 
tempt choked him; he looked at the man standing before him, 
handsome as some perfect piece of art, with a candid, manly 
face, in every outward semblance, his superior ; but, to his 
eye, without a shade of truth or honor in his soul, and he 
loathed him in his inmost heart. 

It would have been ijnpossible for him to have dissembled ; 


BKliKKLY noES SOME BrSlNESS IN JKMN^LRY. . 127 

all that he could ho])e to do was to keep quiet, and he did 
that for the sake of the house he had made his home. 

“ You are master of your own conduct and feeliiii^s, 
Larry,” he said. “ I have neither the power nor desire to 
be your judge, but I shall be glad to know that you regard 
Miss Saunders’ entreaty without further trouble. She seems 
to me to have earned the right to be obeyed.” 

Larry puffed his cigar and laughed. 

“ Wliy should I wish to talk to a woman who makes her- 
self disagreeable to me ?•” he asked, frankly ; “ particularly 
when I have a pretty young wife of my own, who is all 
smiles.” Saying this, he put his cigar in his mouth and his 
hands in his pockets, and strode up and down the parlor, with 
an air of easy comfort. 

Borkely, with his eyes on the ground, vveat out, and slowly 
and quietly went off to bed. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

BERKELY DOES SOME BUSINESS IN JEWELRY. 

The next day was a bright and pleasant one; with all the 
snow gone from the streets and a strong sunlight warming 
them : it was charming wmather for December. At breakfast, 
Berkely proposed a drive for the ladies, and, Nelly and Katie 
joyfully assenting, it was arranged that Mrs. Larry and they 
should accompany him in a barouche, .while Larry rode on 
horseback at their side. Bess plead household cares as an 
excuse for i-emaining at home, and Mrs. Morrison’s head 
...(•hed so with the “capering,” as she termed the dancing of 
t!ie night before, that she declared it was as much as she 
C(ni]d do to get over it in time to go out for tea. 

Three o’clock was the hour named for dinner, and as it 
neared that time, the wheels of a carriage sounded in the 
street and the door-bell rang. 


128 


THE MORKTSONS. 


“ It is the ladies cornin’ homo, Miss Bess, called Jenny np 
the stairs, as a warning to her mistress before she opened 
the door. But Jenny was mistaken ; to be sure there was a 
carriage there with an open door, beside which a portly 
coachman stood in waiting, but the two persons on the step 
Jenny had never seen before. They were a lady and gentle- 
man of a merry, genial appearance, and they nodded good- 
humoredly at Jenny as they made the enquiry : 

“ Is this Mrs. Morrison’s ?” 

“ Yes ; but they’re a-going out by-and-bye,” said Jenny, 
upon whose mind no effort of her mistress could impress the 
correct demeanor to strangers ; but suddenly recollecting 
herself, she added — “ Jest you come in, and I’ll ask Miss 
Bess.’’ 

“ Come in, Joe,” said the lady encouragingly to the gen 
tleman, who was evidently of a bashful disposition, and stood 
twirling his hat and smiling at the door mat. She was a 
short, bright-eyed, dark-complexioned woman, with no par- 
ticular beauty of feature, but a clear, good-humored expres- 
sion, and a short, merry laugh that rang like a bell. Her 
companion, directly her opposite in height and complexion, 
was still like her in that indefinable something that marks 
relationship in the most dissimilar faces. She was the elder 
by some years, and might have been old-maidish but for the 
determined gayety of her dress and manner. 

“ It is the younger Mrs. Morrison we wish to see particularly,” 
said she to Jenny ; “but please present our compliments to the 
whole family,” and she handed her two cards, on which were 
written, “ Miss Charlotte Waters,” and “ Joseph Waters.” 

“ Oh,” said Jenny, staring hard at the visitors, “ Mr. Larry’s 
gone out in a carriage with his wife and the young ladies, and 
you’ll have to see Mrs. Morrison ’cause there ain’t no one else in 
’cept her and Miss Bess.” 

“ They are out, Joe ; you remember that I told you they would 
be out, when you insisted on coming at this late hour. I don’t 
blame you, but all I ask is that you’ll acknowledge that I v/as 
right. We’ll see the other ladies, please,” she added to Jenny. 


BEKKELT DOES SOME BUSINESS IN JEWELRY. 129 

“ See, aunt I” said Bess, taldnf^ the cards she received from 
the girFs hand into her aunt’s room, and placing them before her, 
“ here are tlie Waters to call ; will you go down at once ?” 

Her aunt looked hopelessly round her, and then in a complain* 
ing manner, began : 

“ I wish that Larry would stay at home, and look to his own 
folk. How am I to make myself agreeable to people I never 
laid my eyes on, nor one belonging to them 

“ It is Miss Charlotte Waters and her brother,” said Bess, 
without appearing to heed her aunt’s demur. “ Juliet said they 
were the best and kindest people living, when she mentioned them 
last night, and I know you cannot fail to be pleased with each 
other.” 

“ Well, come yon with me, and I’ll go down,” said Mrs. Mor- 
rison, decidedly, and Bess immediately consented to prevent Jen- 
ny Brackett’s further interest in the conversation, for she had 
been standing open-mouthed in her attention, under the pretence 
of waiting for a message. 

Bess took upon herself the ceremony of mutual introduction, 
and strove to make up by her cordial warmth for the somewhat 
stately bearing her aunt, out of remembrance of Larry’s last night’s 
complimentary mention of her nationality, had thought proper 
to assume. It was the intention of the Waters, in calling, to in- 
sist on all the family joining them at tea that evening, and Miss 
Charlotte urged them so heartily, that Mrs. Morrison, who was 
very susceptible of warmth, began to melt and become confi- 
dential. 

“ You see. Miss Waters,” she said, “I am a great lover of 
home, and it’s seldom I’d leave it from my own choice, but since 
you’re so friendly as to desire it. I’ll go over with Larry and his 
v/ife this evening.” 

“ And the young ladies too, remember ; we’ll have no compro- 
mise, you must all come ; must they not, Joe ?” 

“ Decidedly,” said Joe, and he looked amiably from one to the 
other, but he blushed a little, notwithstanding Bess’s efforts to 
set him at ease, and evinced occasionally all those phenomena be- 
longing to shy men. His sister, on the contrary, was full of con- 


130 


THE MORRISONS. 


versatioii on ovcvy variety of subject, and had not InilP exliansted 
the one theme of the surprise occasioned l)y the tidings of Juliet’s 
wedding. 

“ My brother, John Waters, of New York, is the eldest of the 
family, you see,” she said, renewing the subject in the hall as they 
were about to depart. “ lie left us and went to New York 
when Joe and I were mere children. There was an odd coinci- 
dence in his and Juliet’s marriage, for he was to be principal 
clerk in his father-in-law’s establishment. Like your son, he car- 
ried flattering letters of introduction, and was presented to the 
family of his employer. Mary Robson, Juliet’s mother, was, like 
her, an only child, and soon set her an example by falling in love 
with John ; the only difference was, Mr. Robson made it a two 
years’ engagement, and John was partner in the firm long before 
liis marriage. -We were to have gone to the wedditig ; it was 
before either of us left school, and we couldn’t get a holiday ; 
Could we, Joe ?” 

“ It was a love match, you know, and they are always hasty, 
inconsiderate aff:urs,” said Bess, smiling. 

“ Yes,” said Miss Cha,rlotte, with great earnestness ; “ and I, 
for one, would be exceedingly grateful to any one who would pre- 
vent my doing anything of the sort,” and she glanced sideways 
at her brother as she spoke, who sighed faintly and blushed 
again. 

“ Will you go, Bess dear ?” asked her aunt, as soon as they 
drove off. 

“ Why, aunt, how can I ?” asked Bess, reproachfully. “ There 
are the arrangements for Friday evening to be attended to, and 
no time for it but this afternoon. I must go to the Daceys to- 
morrow ; and in tl}#morning I have some business to settle.” 

“ Business,” repeated Mrs. Morrison, “ that puts me in mind of 
a queer trick of Berkely. The other day he comes into my room 
where I was sitting, sewing, with my door open, and drops a let- 
ter in my lap after a word or two. It gave me quite a start till 
1 opened it and found it full of bank notes, and, what you can read 
liere, about a compensation for his living.” Here Mrs. Morrison 
produced a letter from her pocket, and smoothed it out for her 


EKRKEr.Y DOES ROME BUSINESS IN OKWELRY. 


131 


niece to read. “ Do yon mind wliat lie says about occupyiinj; two 
fine rooms ; one of them’s Larry’s littlo boot closet ; nnd having 
such a home as money couldn’t procure him elsewhere 

“ Yes,” said Bess, thoughtfully lingering over the words ; “good 
men are apt to exaggerate the benefits they receive, and forget 
the pleasure they give ; but, aunt, we must not take this sum 
from Mr. Morrison, it is neither right nor just ; it is three times 
the worth of his board and lodging.” 

“ Settle it with him, dear, for I never had a head for figures. 
I told him I’d speak to you, but I think he made me half pro- 
mise to say nothing about it.” 

“ Here they are,” cried Bess, thrusting the paper into her pock- 
et, as the wheels echoed in the street. “Tell them to dress 
quickly, aunt, and I’ll see that Ellen sets on the dinner.” 

Tliey had enjoyed their drive exceedingly. Juliet had not been 
in the city since she was a child, so there were many new things 
to see and be admired ; and, as the young wife possessed tlie 
ability to be enthusiastically delighted at almost anything which 
gave others pleasure, the whole party were in excellent sjiirits. 

“ Do you like my xVunt Charlotte ?” she asked of Mrs. Mori-i- 
son, as they sat at dinner, after that lady’s description of her re- 
lative’s call. 

“ Yes, indeed ; I was highly pleased with them both,” return- 
ed her mother-in-law. “ The gentleman is young and good look- 
ing too.” 

“ Aunt Charlotte isn’t handsome, but she is a veiy excellent 
woman, papa says. When my mother died, she came to New 
York to persuade him to let me go home with her for my educa- 
tion ; but Aunt Edmonds had heard mamma^ last wishes, and 
seemed naturally to be the one she would have preferred. She 
is ray great-aunt, you know, and directed my rnothei-’s educa 
tion ; but Aunt Charlotte didn’t feel quite satisfied about the do 
cision.” 

“ What a vivacious nianner she has,” said Bess ; “ sii8 
made aunt and me quite merry over their efiort to find us out 
this morning. It appears that they all three started out with 

different ideas of our locality ; the coachman firmly believed 
9 


132 


THE MOKRTSOXS. 


US to be inhabitants of B/rlin Square, Miss ^Yiiters inclined 
to Burrill Street, while her brother was of opinion that the 
proper direction was Essex Avenue.” 

“ Essex Avenue,” repeated Katie, “ what an odd mistake.” 

“ Mr. Waters always associates ideas, bis sister says — and 
Burleigh reminded him of Queen Elizabeth, and Essex grew 
out of the recollection.” 

“ They must have had a search,” said Larry. “ It might 
have occurred to them to consult the letter your father wrote 
Juliet. Well, are we all going, and when do we start ?” ho 
asked. 

“ Bess can’t go on account of an engagement she has, but 
the rest of us will be ready whenever you say,” said his mo- 
ther. 

“ I should like to go early, LawTence ; dear Aunt Char- 
lotte, she has always sent me such kind letters.” 

Mrs. Larry looked timidly at her husband ; it was part of 
her beauty to be shy and dependent. Larry rose, yawning : 

“ Oh, we’ll be early enough, never fear,” he said. “ Let us 
say six, and then consider what wc shall do to kill time till 
then.” 

You will not have long to dispose of, for it’s past four 
now, and you are obliged to dress, I suppose,” said Nell. 

At any rate I am going to carry Juliet off to our room, so 
I’ll leave you to your stupidity.” 

“ May I go ?” said Juliet, in a whisper. “ It is only to see 
some drawings of Katie’s.” 

“ To be sure,” he answered, laughing. “ I’m going to in- 
vade Bess’s sacred bowers with the unhallowed smoke of a 
cigar. Bess, do you remember how you used to pereecuto 
me V ha, ha, ha ! Mother often came to the rescue in sheer 
pity for me ; didn’t you, mother ?” 

“ I mind taking the cigar from you when the girls held 
your hands That was the day after the new lace curtains 
were put up — and I thought it too bad in you not to go up 
to your own room, where it was always choked with to« 
bacco.” 


BKRKELY DOES SOME BUSINESS IN JETA -LIIT. 133 

“Berkcly, do you sinokt' ?” arikdd Larry. 

“ No, indeed, Cousin Bcrkely would not be guilty of such 
a horrid habit,” said Nell, stoutly. 

“ Prn sorry to fall in your opinion,” said Berkely, laugh- 
ing, “ but I must confess I do smoke. Cousin Nell ; not in the 
parlors, he added, laughing, “ but in the little room I seized 
upon with such rapture as a museum ; you would have sus- 
pected me, then, if you had seen the boxes of cigars among 
my curiosities” 

“ Well, really, what an imposition you are, isn’t he Uncle 
Terry ? allowing me to think him innocent of the whiff of to- 
bacco, with boxes of it stored away ?” 

The old gentleman, who was a growing favorite with Ju- 
liet, had consented to make one of the tea-part}" at Waters’, 
and now retired to finish a book in which he was deeply en- 
grossed. 

The girls followed with Juliet, and Mrs. Morrison stayed 
to talk to Bess. 

Berkely has bespoken a carriage for the week, he tells 
me, and we’ll all ride over to Miss Waters. Now can’t you 
try and come with us, for we’ll take no pleasure at all if you 
don’t be there ?” 

“ Why will you not go, Bess ?” asked Larry, rising from 
the lounge by the window and coming over to where his nuj- 
ther and Bess stood. 

“ Oh, I thought aunt told you that T could not,” said Bess, 
quietly. “ I have a great deal to do this evening, and it is 
impossible to think of it.” 

“ You don’t want to go, you mean, and I take it very un- 
kindly in you.” 

Ilis mother looked from one to the other in surprise. Bess 
bit her lip and controlled a rising glow upon her face. 

I think, aunt, you had better go up to dress at once 
You know I’m going out presently, and I want to see you in 
your new silk. You have no idea of its elegance till you see 
it, Larry, and it’s really the most becoming shade to your mo- 
ther’s complexion.” 


134 tflE MOERTSONS. 

“ I dare soy it’s gorgeous,” said, Larry, carelessly ; “ but, 
Bess,” he added, in an under tone, “ why do not you put on 
something becoming; where is that grand brocade that 
made you look so queenly last winter ? I expected you to 
go with us to-night and eclipse them all.” 

Mrs. Morrison answered for her niece : 

“Why, then, I think Bess looks as well in the pure colored 
merino that she wore last night, as she would in the gayest 
and rarest of silks — but you always had a fancy for fine 
clothes, Larry.” 

“ I have a fancy for everything fine, mother. I like noth- 
ing that is not, and so I object to Bess’s apron.” 

“ Object no longer, for I’ll take it off, as you see ; come, 
aunt, or I will not have time to help you fix your cap.” 


The carriage Berkely had engaged, drove up to the door, 
and the ladies assembled in the parlor, gathering up their 
skirts and fortifying themselves against the crushing they 
were about to undergo. Katie and Nell had done their best 
to intimidate the Waters with their splendor, and their bro- 
ther’s wife vied with them. Bess hovered round her aunt, 
adjusting the folds of her dress, and the ribbons of hQr cap, 
and giving way to the genuine admiration her new dress ex- 
cited, in whispers to Uncle Terry. 

“ Now, Berkely, you and Uncle Terry and I will do our 
best to dispose of this amount of finery in the coach, and then 
take the omnibus ourselves.” 

“ I’m obliged to you, Larry, but remember the family you 
visit do not even know of my existence, and I couldn’t think 
of intruding.” 

Berkely said this as he drew on his gloves and took up his 
hat ; a perfect shower of protests fell on all sides : they 
looked to his accompanying them as a certainty ; they were 
all strangers except Juliet, and if Berkely didn’t go, no one 
would enjoy the evening at all. But Berkely had another 
engagement to attend to, and good-humoredly resisted to all 
their entreaties. 


BEEKELY DOES SOME BUSINESS IN JEWELEY. 135 

Larry seemed bent on. making him go with them; .and even 
after the ladies laid dej)arted, he urged the disappointment his 
mother evidently felt, as a plea for Berkely’s reconsidering his 
determination. 

“ See,” said Berkely, laughing, “ I have Nelly’s pin to mend ; 
I promised her to take it to her jeweller’s, and that alone would 
prevent me from changing my plans.” 

“ Then you don’t mean to go home to Burleigh Place to tea, 
I suppose ?” asked Larry, as they parted. 

“ I can scarcely say,” said Berkely, and walked rapidly 
away. 

To the jeweller’s was but a square or two from the street cor- 
ner where he had left Larry and his uncle, and Berkely went 
straight in that direction, taking the little box in which Nellie’s 
pin was from his pocket as he went along. It was near Christ- 
mas time, and Berkely ’s real object was the purchase of 
presents for that season, and as jewelry could contain more value 
ill a less pretentious form than any other, it naturally occurred tc 
him to look at Dubois’s stock. 

Mr. Dubois himself received him, and examining the pin 
Nelly had sent, remarked, laughingly, that it was an old cus- 
tomer. “ 1 have repaired this pin at intervals of three or six 
months, ever since Miss Morrison bought it,” he said. 

Berkely ventured to hint that its original form, could not have 
been very substantial ; but the jeweller assured him that Miss 
Nelly was hard on pins — that she expected them to endure too 
much, and actually drove them into scarfs and ribbons. Miss 
Katie, however, he must say, did not patronize him in that way; 
she had a little pearl branch that had not been out of order in 
five years.” 

“ You seem to know the family, sir,” said .Berkely, smiling, as 
he looked into the show-case for something that might suit the 
bride. 

“ Yes,” he answered ; “ Miss Saunders’ mothc’’ had some 
jewels reset with me more than a dozen years age That was 
the first I knew of them, and since then I’ve supplied the family 
with everything they ever bought in my trade. A very fino 


136 


THE MORRISONS. 


family, sir, particularly the young gentleman. You know the 
young gen I ‘email, I suppose V’ 

“ We ar-='. cousins,^’ said Berkely. 

“ Then you can tell me when he is likely to be here, I am 
really anx’ous to see him ; there’s a little difficulty, you know 
between Miss Saunders and me about some jewelry. I suppose 
as you belong to the family, there can be no impropriety in my 
naming it to you. Can there ?” 

A dozen hasty thoughts flashed through Berkely’s mind. It 
might be some trouble that he could avert, some wrong that he 
could resent, or some difficulty he could assist her in meeting ; 
ne remembered the jewelry she had spoken of selling, and for a 
moment his desire to understand it all was predominant ; but to 
come to the knowledge in an underhand way, to deceive her by 
being in possession of a secret she meant to keep hidden, seemed 
unkind and unmanly ; so he said : 

“ I am not related to Miss Saunders, and she has told me 
notl'.ing of the transaction you mention ; perhaps she would 
rather you didn’t repeat any business that ” 

“Very right, very proper,” assented Mr. Dubois ; “but it 
Avas not Miss Saunders I meant to speak of particularly, it was 
Mr. Lawrence Morrison ; he brought me a complete set of rubies 
and diamonds about eight months ago that he knew I had once 
reset. They Avere a little out of repair, particularly the neck- 
laces, from being used in a tableau, he told me, and I mended 
some links and supplied a pin or tAvo. They AA^ere all perfect 
then. Between that time and a few days ago, the diamonds 
were displaced, and paste substituted in their stead ; they Avere 
done so neatly, that even I did not discover it at a glance, and I 
very much Avish to see Mr. Morrison, as he Avas the one to Avhom 
I gave them in a perfect state.” 

“ Then Miss Saunders knoAA's nothing of the loss ?” asked 
Berkely, breathlessly. 

“ Oh, yes, of course I Avas obliged to tell her they Avere no 
longer worth the sum I had once offered for them, and give her 
the reason Avhy. Miss Saunders did not give me Mr. Morrison’s 
address, although I was anxious naturally to have him sub- 


BERKELT DOES SOME BUSINESS IN JEWELRY. 137 

stantiate my statement. She seemed staggered and distressed 
for a time, but said it was not necessary to investigate.” 

“ What, may I ask, could she gain by investigation ?” 

“ Why, don^t you see,” said the jeweller, argumentatively, 
“ here is a valuable collection of jewels, that to her knowledge, 
as she at first admitted, never entered any professional hand 
except mine ; yet they had been neatly altered, and it certainly 
was worth while to know by whom.” 

“ Have you got them here ?” asked Berkely, suddenly struck 
by a happy thought. 

“ Ho,” said the jeweller, decidedly, “ I immediately returned 
them to Miss Saunders, you see, when I could no longer offer 
the price she demanded ; there was no use in one wasting words 
about terms.” 

“ Can you get them for me, Mr. Dubois ? Let us come to the 
point at once. I have a great desire to purchase these jewels ; 
will you negotiate the business for me ; they are worth to me 
the price she asks for them, and I shall be greatly obliged if you 
will manage it.” 

“ But, my dear sir, consider the oddness of such an affair; three 
days ago I assured her positively the rubies were comparatively 
valueless to me, and I really don’t know how to retract ray 
statement or explain the case. You being a connection, as you 
say, and no doubt an intimate friend, can manage it between 
you much better, I should think.” 

“ I want it to be a strictly business transaction, Mr. Dubois, 
and I have no doubt it will involve some little trouble to you 
I am about to become a purchaser of some articles in your line, 
to a small extent ; do this for me, and I will buy here. Say to 
Miss Saunders that you have found a purchaser willing to pay 
well for the rubies, and ask what percentage in the transaction 
you think proper.” 

“ My dear sir, it is a business rule with me to be ready to 
oblige customers to any extent. I’ll think of some pretext to 
recall my decision in Miss Saunders’ case, and you shall hear 
from me to-morrow.” 

“ Why not say at once. While I look over this case, please 


138 


THE MOEKISOXS. 


write a word or two tliat I can carry to her. Say that you ask 
for another look at them, there may be a doubt of the substitu- 
tion, you know.'^ 

The jeweller followed Berkely^s eyes as they wandered over the 
show-case. 

“ What style of article did you wish to select, Mr. Morrison V’ 
he asked. 

Berkely, whose business faculties were of the brightest, saw at 
a glance that the amount of his bill would greatly affect Mr. Du- 
bois’s unwillingness to acknowledge himself mistaken in a profes- 
sional matter, so he looked out two pretty enamelled watches for 
Katie and Nelly, and a delicate cluster of pearls for the bride’s 
hair, which, taken together, amounted to a price sufficient to out- 
weigh the jeweller’s scruples. When he added to this a jet and 
pearl brooch for his aunt, and a bouquet holder for Bess, Mr. 
Dubois wrote, almost at his own dictation, a note to Miss Saun- 
ders, rescinding his refusal to buy her set, and hinting that his 
judgment might have been hasty about their alteration. 

“ She will, no doubt, come with these articles to-morrow,” oaid 
Berkely ; I will leave the money in your hands early in the 
morning ; the jewelry you will please keep until I can see about 
having the spurious ones replaced.” So saying, and thanking him 
heartily for his kindness in the affair, Berkely left the jeweller’s 
with a light heart. 

It was dark, and long after the early tea-time in Burleigh 
Place, so he did not go directly home, but, after looking over the 
paper in a Chop House, took a stroll up towards Myers’ Laue, 
now in a blockade state of bricks and mortar. Dirt and neglect 
had succeeded in defacing what had originally been meant for 
comforte.ble dwellings there, and Berkely had come into posses- 
sion of some desperately villainous looking tenements through the 
title deeds of Doctor Windell. Some twenty years before, large 
plans for the transportation of merchandize on the river running 
close in tiie neig'ob irhood. had lent a momentary impetus to the 
sale of])ropei ty there, Biocks of houses on a spacious scale had 
been com. ue:. ceil on all side.-;, l)ut, before their completion, a rail- 
road for tiie same purpose, had been projected in a more central 


DERKELY DOES SOME BUSINESS IN JEWELRY. 139 


part of the city, and had detracted from their worth so exten- 
sively, that the work was for a time deserted, and then taken up 
in a rough, careless way, as being, at the best, a precarious in- 
vestment. Thus it fell out that laborers in the brick-yards round 
about, herded their families together in squads on different stories 
of houses too large for their single occupancy, and lone women 
took in washing in the parlors, and oyster-hawkers flourished on 
the second floor. Finally, a still worse class fell into possession, 
and rows and drunkenness revelled in Myers’ lane. One of the 
houses burst forth as a tavern, a half dozen large greenish de- 
canters, partly filled with spirits, ranged on a shelf behind a green 
wooden counter, announced the fact ; and two or three small 
barrels that stood over against the wall, redolent of rum and 
whisky, spread it abroad. Further up the street was a small 
grocery, not so thriving in custom, for the tavern was constantly 
surrounded, whereas only a sparely clad woman or a ragged child 
flitted in and out with small parcels from the door of the other. 

In the matter of children, Myers’ Lane was redundant ; they 
were the only luxury belonging to the locality, and sprung up in 
a night with a mushroom-like growth. Berkely, in his first glance 
at the property, was actually appalled at its prolific nature in 
this regard ; but, seeing their half-naked, dirty, hopeless condi- 
tion, inspired him with courage to begin improving, and make 
them live better as a foundation. So the Myers’ Laners were 
served with notices to leave ; and to provide among the rackety 
tenements of the neighborhood lodgings for such as hoped to go 
back into the improved quarters, gave occupation to many au 
hour of the new landlord. Then began his improvements, that, 
exc6}.)t in plan, were only yet in embryo. To make two comfort- 
able, convenient, and practical dwellings out of each miserably 
out-of-repaii’ house, required a thoughtfulness for the need, and 
a knowledge of-the ways and means of poverty, that was no in 
jury to Berkely to gain in studying from nature ; it was a pursuit 
that afterwards made his heart ache and his courage quail. Sull, 
as he had declared to his aunt that occupation was a blessing to 
him, he certainly gained it in that way ; and, as doing good is the 


140 


THE 1MORRTSOX8. 


isecret of happiness, it may have accounted, in part, for the plea- 
sure he felt in his new life. 

On this particular niglit he merely glanced at the place in 
passing, and taking a short turn came under a lamp and looked 
at his watch. It was eight o’clock. 

“ She will be at leisure now,” he thought, and hastened home- 
wards. 

There was no light in the parlor, so he went directly back into 
the dining-room, where, as he had expected, Bess sat beside a 
shaded gas-burner, with some papers and an account book open 
before her. She pushed them aside as he came in, and rose, 
shading her face from the little light there was. 

“ I have been making up bills, you see, Mr. Morrison,” she 
said, trying to yawn and . look weary, but, despite of her effort, 
appearing anxious and disturbed. “ It is dark here ; let me light 
the other burner,” she added. 

Berkely did it for her, and she swept her bills into a stand- 
drawer and locked it. When the room was light she was very 
pale, and Berkely could not avoid glancing at her in alarm. 

“ I dislike figures so much,” she said, noticing his expression, 
“ that they always perplex and annoy me beyond measure. I 
was such a stupid girl at school in arithmetic, that my teacher 
had no patience with me.” 

Berkely took the leather case from his pocket containing^ Ju- 
liet’s pearls. 

“ I want to consult you about these,” he said ; “I haven’t a 
particle of taste in ladies’ dress until I see it in motion, then I 
must say I know at a glance if it looks well. Young Mrs. Mor- 
rison had a flower hanging in her hair to-night, and I thought 
this had something of the appearance of a cluster of buds.” 

“ It is really the prettiest thing of the kind I ever saw. Ob, 
it is exquisite ! and Mrs. Larry’s hair is darker and richer than 
mine, and will give it greater effect.” 

So saying, Bess held it up against her bands of fair hair and 
laughed. 

• “ I don’t Vv^onder Katie distresses herself about my tow-like 
locks,” she said ; “ nothing looks well in them.” 


BEKKELY DOES SOME BTJSTKESS IN JEWELRY. 141 

Oh, by-the-b3^e, I got this at Duboises, and he gave me a note 
for yon,’^ said Berkely, suddenly, as if remembering something. 
“ I hope it is here,’’ he continued, rummaging in his pocket-book 
to hide the color that he knew was rising on his face. “ Ah, yes, 
here it is,” and he gave it to her, taking the ornament from her 
hand as he did so. 

She took it in evident surprise, and opened it eagerly, reading 
it over once without taking in its meaning. Suddenly it came to 
her, and her whole face glowed with the knowledge. She glanced 
up at Berkely witli trembling lips, and then burst into tears, the 
first he had ever seen her shed, and strong and powerful as sum- 
mer rain. Utterly unprepared for such emotion, he felt actually 
bowed in its presence, and stood with downcast eyes, not know- 
ing whether to remain or steal quietly away. 

She came up to him, and putting her hand upon his arm, and 
with the other wiped the tears that still rolled over her 
cheeks. 

“ I am so happ3% so relieved ; oh, Mr. Morrison, it was so 
wretched, so fearfully humiliating to think that I had thrown 
iri3’ life, my heart away on a wretch without a gleam of hu- 
man honesty in his soul — to see one ab^^ss of blackness after 
another open in his nature, and to shudder at the horror I 
had worshiped as an idol. Oh, what am I sa^dng — do not 
listen to me ; God help me, it is harder to bear pleasure than 
pain I” 

She spoke in impulsive, uncontrollable emotion, and wept 
as he had never seen any one weep before, sobbing ^aud 
trembling like a child. 

Berkely’s heart was stirred to its very depths ; to him she 
appeared no longer the stately, self-reliant woman that des- 
pite his interest in, he had always felt a little afraid of ; but 
a young girl, bowed and stricken, under a weight of grief. 
He took her hands and drew her towards him for an instant, 
till his lips touched the pure white of her forehead. 

“ God bless you, Bess Saunders,” he murmured ; “ God 
bless you for a noble, true hearted worn a, n 1 ’^ 

The door opened behind them ; lie glanced round and saw 


142 


THE MORKTSONB. 


Larry standing there, with his cloak thrown over his arm, his | 
cigar in his hand, but with a black scowl darkening his hand- V 
some face. ! 


CHAPTER XIY. 
larky’s headache. 

Larry himself was the first to speak ; both Bess and 
Berkely were too much surprised at his sudden advent to re 
cover themselves at once. 

“ I am sorry I intruded, upon my word I am,” he 
said, in the most apologetic of tones. “ I had a headache 
to-night, and the Waters have a grand piano. Juliet and 
Katie and Nell}" outdid each other at it, and seeing nothing 
but destruction before me, I fled, leaving them to Uncle 
Terry’s escort.” 

“ Is there anything I can do for you, Larry ?” asked 
Bess, almost kindly. She smoothed out Mr. Dubois’s note, 
and put it carefully away in her bosom, as she spoke ; her 
quiet self-possession came back, and she looked happier and 
more at ease, despite her red eyes, than Larry had seen her 
since his return. He had a keen glance of his own, and he 
looked covertly from one to the other as he threw himself on 
the lounge, ’with the evident intention of discovering the 
cause of the emotion he had witnessed. 

Berkely took up an old book Uncle Terry had left on the 
mantelpiece, and drew an easy-chair towards the light. 

. “You want to do something for me, Bess? Well, that’s 
kind, and I dai-e say you can cure m3" head in a jifty. You 
know all about these things, and were a capital nurse 
once.” 

“ I should think a cigar the worst thing possible, and to 
begin with, you’d better throw it away,” said Bess. “ I’ll 
make you a cup of tea, if you think it will help you.” 


laery's headaotie. 


143 


“ Aiiytliiri^ you do for me, Bess, must lielp me,” said Lar- 
ry, adding", as she turned cf^iickly and looked coldly on him, 
“ You remember that old woman that lived with us when 
you were a little girl, old Nancy Monoghan ? she used to 
aver that you had, what Irish people call the lucky touch, and 
could cure whatever you set your mind on.” 

Berkely laid down the book he had been looking at, and, 
glad of the opportunity, plunged into the subject of the 
“lucky touch,” its meaning and origin, both of which he was 
ignorant of, but profoundly interested in Ellen O’Toole, who 
having just been the “ length of the corner,” she said, “ to see 
a neighbor Gamel,” had come home and stirred up the fire, so 
that the kettle was soon bT^iling. Being of a friendly nature, 
she came in to inquire into Larry’s ailments and offer advice. 

“ Here’s Ellen that can tell us all about the ‘ touch,' can’t 
you, Ellen ?” asked Larry. 

“ Is’t the titch ?” she replied ; “ faith can I. It’s the 
siventh son of the siventh son that has the raal power in the 
fingers. Sure my father’s brother, Myles, was one of thim, 
and his son Murphy was another. Mr. Larry, sir, ye may 
believe me or ye may believe me not, but there’s thim livin’ 
that can tell the doin’s ov Murphy O’Toole, and sure it 
would make the hair rise on ycr head to hear some ov 
thim.” 

“ Give us an idea of the style of his doings, Ellen,” said 
Larry, gravely. “ Please tell us one of the least terrible of 
his achievements.” 

Ellen took up her position in the doorway, between the 
dining-room and kitchen, as being a sort of neutral ground, 
and with a large iron spoon, that she always carried with her 
through every occupation, pointed her remarks : 

“ Did ever you hear ov the way he tuck the black curse 
off widdy Branagan’s heifer ? Well, thin. I’ll tell ye, for Miss 
Bess draws the tay hersilf, so I’ll jist pit in the time tellin’ 
yez this till it’s ready. Me father was once a well-to-do 
farmer, although I’m livin’ out in a strange kitchen the day, 
and me Cousin Murphy had a horse for his own ridin’ that 


THE M0ERIS0N8. 


was the knowinest baste ye iver mit. Sure Murphy sold hiiu 
twice, wanst iiitil the County C^se, and wanst to a Kings 
County man, and both times he come rearin’ back intil the 
byre, havin’ thrown the poor man that was ridin’ him home, 
an’ him so frightened with the kickin’ of the baste that he 
was a feared ov his life to go near him, and gist was glad 
to take half his money and lave him behint him. Well, 3’e 
see widdy Branagan had a good field at the ind ov our place, 
and Murphy’s mare tuck a chance ov the grass there wid her 
heifer ” 

A long, loud ring at the door left the two animals peace- 
fully grazing, whilst the narrator made all the haste that 
belonged to her bulk in opening itj^ It was the party return- 
ing, and they came directly back into thb dining-room where 
Bess stood at Larry’s side, holding the cup of tea she had 
made for him, 

“ Lawrence,” cried Juliet, running towards him, dropping 
her furs at her heels in her excitement, “ are you ill, darling ? 
We only missed you when Cousin Joe came down from the 
library, and I couldn’t possibly remain, uncertain as I was 
about you.” 

“ Pshaw, Juliet, don’t be absurd I” answered her lord, un- 
graciously. I had a headache, but didn’t think it neces- 
sary to alarm the whole establishment on that account. 
Bess, this tea is delicious ; I have never tasted such tea 
since you made it for me before and he looked at her with 
a gratitude that was almost fondness. 

His wife glanced towards him uneasily, while Mrs. Morri- 
son, whcrhad just got herself out of her wrappings, bustled 
up in great concern. 

“ Is it cold you’ve taken, Larry ? or was it the fried 
oysters? I’ve felt a weight on my own !ic;ii-L over shue; [ 
ate them. Or, may be,” she added, ** you lelt the heat of 
that upper room where the books were. It was more tho.n I 
could bear, and I don’t wonder that your cousin Joseph has 
the color he has if he sits there, my dear Juliet.” 

“ Oh, mother, don’t be foolish ; I have a headache, that’s 


larky's headache. 145 

all, nnd you all look as if I was struck with paralysis, or 
something fatal.” ^ 

“ I imagined you must be quite ill,” said Katie, quietly ; 
“ because nothing but serious illness would justify me in 
going away from a company under like circumstances, and I 
judge others by myself.” 

Katie was offended ; so was Nelly, and their mother and 
Juliet were divided between concern and annoyance, 

Berkely, who rather enjoyed Larry^s being obliged to ac- 
count for an illness that he knew was fictitious, made a pre- 
tense of consulting Uncle Terry about the old book he had 
picked up, and watched the scene as it progressed. 

Bess gathered up the tea-things and carried them out ; and 
Larry, lying there surrounded by so many anxious females, 
had nothing left for it but to get angry, which he immediately 
proceeded to do. 

“ Well, by Jove 1” he commenced, sitting upright and 
thrusting back his hair, “ it’s as much as one’s life’s worth 
to complain, here. What is the matter with you all ? Was 
I to be forced, with a headache, to endure a long, dull eve- 
ning, when I could escape it by going home ? I left my 
regrets with Mr. Wateis, and I’ll call in the morning on his 
sister.” 

Katie gathered up her things. “ Juliet, shall we say good- 
night in your room ?” she said. ‘‘ I’m very tired, and so are 
you, I’m sure. Nelly, can you carry Juliet’s muff?” 

They all three departed together, Juliet casting, as she 
went, a look of solicitude towards her husband, but venturing 
no further remark. 

“ I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Larry,” said his mother, 
decidedly, as the door closed ; “ and you needn’t pooh and 
pshaw, for it’ll have no weight with me. I’m just going to 
give you a good big bowl of warm balm tea, with a spice of 
ginger in it, and get your feet in mustard and water, as soon 
as I lay off my dress and get a wrapper on me.’"’ 

Larry sprang up and stamped on the floor, while Berkely 


140 


THE MOEHISvONS. 


brf)ke out laughing heartily. Mrs. Morrison, astonished and 
indignant, exclaimed, bridling : 

Is there anything wrong in that ? the best doctor in tlie 
land could do no better, and I’ve tried it again and again.’’ 

“ Forgive me, aunt,” said Berkely, abashed. “ I really 
don’t know what is the matter with me, ha, ha, ha ! It must 
be this old story of yours, Uncle Terry.” 

“ Well,” said Uncle Terry, “ may be it is, though I found 
it very affecting myself.” 

Larry gave his cousin an angry look, and, catching up his 
cloak and hat, hurried off, to escape his mother’s benevolent 
intentions concerning him, which were in full force of prepa- 
ration in the hands of Ellen O’Toole, to whom she had given 
orders. 

Finding that he set her skill at naught and eluded her 
prescription, she was exceedingly wroth, and singling out 
Uncle Terry, who had said nothing on either side, gave him 
a good setting down for encouraging Larry in Ins wilfulness. 
“ And this is what I’ll tell you, uncle; since you abetted liim 
in flying in my face, when I’m willing and anxious to do for 
him, you may nurse him yourself when he’s down in the 
fever that’s coming on him, for I’ll not lift a hand to help 
you, not one.” 

So she departed in great dignity, leaving the old man 
shaking his head at Berkely and sighing. 

“ It’s really too bad. Uncle Terry,” said Berkely ; “ I 
hadn’t the least idea that I should make my aunt angry when 
I laughed, but I couldn’t help it, I really couldn’t help it.” 
And as Larry’s trick to get home and watch Bess, resulting 
in the fright and dismay of the whole family, rose before him, 
with the perturbation expressed in the face of the object of 
all their attention, he laughed again and again ; while Uncle 
Terry indulged in a prolonged head-shaking. 


JUDITH KILLKTII IIOLOFEKNKS. 


14:7 






CHAPTER XV. 

“JUDITH KILLETH HOLOFERNES.” 

“ What is all this Juliet has been saying about the 
tableaux to-morrow night, Bess asked Larry, on Thursday 
evening, as they came home from the musical party at Da- 
cey^s. “ What are they going to be ? and who are you going 
to have appear 

“ They are going to rehearse to-morrow afternoon, and 
you’ll know all about it theii,’^ said Nelly. “ But shan’t we 
need Larry, Bess ? Who have you got for Holofernes 

“ I don’t know,” said Bess, hesitatingly. “ I thought — 
that perhaps — Mr. Harrington might do.” 

“ Light hair and blue eyes in a Holofernes — absurd I” ex- 
claimed Katie. 

“ I know it’s not what one would choose ; but what is one 
to do ; dark men are so difficult to get.” 

Larry^ looked at her fixedly. “ I am dark, Bess, and the 
easiest attained of human beings. I don’t wish to thrust 
myself forward, you know, but I simply suggest, etc. and 
he laughingly presented himself, bowing. 

“ Ob, do, do, Lawrence. I shall be so delighted to see you 
in armor,” cried his wife, enthusiastically. “ Oh, coax him. 
Miss Saunders, do.” 

Bess looked perplexed a moment, and then frankly said : 

“ There is no one else could do it, or look it, as well 
as you, I’m sure, Larry; but I thought that you would be so 
surrounded by congratulations, that you wouldn’t have time 
to dress and take the trouble.” 

“ I’ll seize on the character as a means of escape, with all my 
heart,” said Larry ; so it was settled, and the next afternoon 
was one of great excitement, as it brought the expected re- 
hearsal. The parlors had been arranged with a view to seating 
the company in one and erecting the stage in the other. All the 
siiperlhious furniture was moved into the back hall ; this com- 


148 


TIIK MORRISONS. 


pletely blocked up by the tables and ottomans ; and all the extra 
chairs from the upper rooms were ranged in half circles for seats. 
Bess, with the supper on her mind, and the wardrobe on her 
hands, was in an indescribable state of flutter. At four o’clock 
the young ladies who intended to go into the land of Fancy that 
night, arrived “ to try on their things and get the position,” as 
Kell said. Juliet, who had taken the utmost interest in the 
whole affair, because her husband was in it, was called for by 
Miss Waters and her brother to take an hour’s drive ; and so 
LaiTy was left to be the Larry of old, to the party rehearsing. 
That is, he tensed and charmed them by turns, being really valu- 
able at devising odds and ends of necessary adornments; and thus 
winning their delighted commendation, he would as earnestly 
pester them to the confines of distraction, by playing on their 
words, affecting to mistake the characters they represented, and 
criticizing their apologies for scenery. 

Berkely, who occupied the arduous position of property-man, 
worked as if his life and reputation depended on his zeal. His 
stage, in spite of Larry’s mistaking it for an enlarged butcher’s 
block, acted capitally, and his curtain drew up with ease, to dis- 
close his faultless background of green baise. At last “the 
positions ” were achieved, and the young ladies hurried away to 
their homes to dress and be back in the evening. J uliet did not 
return to tea, which meal the family achieved after their manner 
on the occasions of great commotion, like a party of Arabs about 
to take flight. When it was over, and Ellen O’Toole had been 
hustled into the kitchen with the tray, Jenny Brackett brushed 
up the carpet, and the table was drawn out to its fullest extent, 
to be laid for supper. Mrs. Morrison, under Kelly’s direction, 
went up to be drest, and Katie waited on Juliet, who had just 
returned from her cousin’s, where she had drank tea. 

Bess then received a visit from two colored men, the one who 
had mysteriously appeared on the night of Larry’s arrival, and 
another familiar of his, who spread the cloth, arranged the 
viands, and ornamented the table in gorgeous style. The door 
©f the dining-room during and after ceremony was locked inside, 
and then the swarthy gentlemen took up their position in the 


149 


“ JUDITH KILLETH HOLOFERNES.” 

hall; and escorted the coming guests to the different dressing- 
rooms. Bess, by dint of cajoling and smoothing her aunt — the 
most dilatory of living women — ^got her down in the parlor in 
time to receive old Dr. Dacey, who was the first arrival ; 
and then having signified to Juliet the little tdte-tete sofa 
which she and her cousin, Miss Waters, were expected to occupy, 
hurried away to see to the dressing of the three goddesses — for 
the Judgment of Paris was to be the first tableau. In a small 
room used as the receptacle of the ironing-board and other 
homely materials, did the famed beauties get up their classicality 
by means of white muslin, powder, and gold bands. Bess, who 
had a sort of natural aptitude for transforming people, gave Belle 
Dacey a lofty beauty by the aid of india ink on her eyebrows 
and certain curves in the braids of her hair, that was astonish- 
ing to the goddess herself, and was just proceeding to fix Katie^s 
hair, so that it would bear a helmet in a manner not offensive to 
that young lady’s idea of her own beauty, when some one tapped 
at the door, and the short figure, and bright, dark face of Miss 
Waters peeped in. 

“ May I ?” she asked, persuasively. “ T do want to help you, 
and if I can’t be of use. I’ll go away. Try me.” 

Oh, come in, Miss Waters, do,” cried Katie ; “ you will be 
invaluable, I’m sure. If you will be good enough to fasten 
Nelly’s girdle. Oh, don’t leave my hair. Boss ; no one else can 
do it.” 

“ My Cousin Bess, Miss Waters,” said Nelly, presenting them 
to each other, and Bess, whose hands were entwined in Katie’s 
braids, bowed low ; but the energetic little lady, after a glance 
at the beautiful face before her, rushed up and kissed her with- 
out ceremony, but great heartiness. 

“ I’m glad to see you. Miss Saunders ; do you know that 
’when I heard of Juliet’s marriage, I quite despaired ; she was so 
young and iiirpractical, and all that ; but since I’ve begun to sec 
you all, it’s a volume of delight, one charming page after another, 
till I look on our little doll as a benefactor. Do tell me, is 
there any one else I haven’t met ? I want to come to an under- 
standing with myself on the score of admiration expended.” 


150 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ Keep a little for Cousin Berkely, quite a g'ood deal, in fact, 
for he’s a perfect love, as we say of convenient men, who do 
everything and say everything just in the right time and 
place.” 

Kelly, as she spoke, swept out in her long muslin and gold, as 
lovely a Yenus as ever bribed Paris. That young gentleman, 
who was cooling his classically buskined heels on the kitchen oil- 
cloth, stood ready, swathed in that complication of lion-skin and 
white linen, that Art represents as the every-day attire of early 
Greek shepherds, but which Mr. Little doubted, declaring that 
the difficulty he found in holding on to his garments, would 
have prevented him from looking after the smallest possible 
lamb. 

Uncle Terry had trumped up a scene of his own, in which , to 
his nieces’ “ burning shame,” as Mrs. Morrison expressed the 
sentiment, he assisted to metamorphose Dr. Harrington into an 
ancient pedagogue, overcome by the smile of a village beauty, 
whilst about to chastise her for mischievous conduct. Mrs. War- 
ren and three or four t)thers, in ouire village dress, as over-grown 
boys and girls, had arrayed themselves for this purpose, and 
Bess, summoning Adah Parker for Cleopatra, exhorted the gen- 
tlemanlike Romans to get into their armor. 

“You see, if we have three ready to show, without delay; 
we can have an intermission while the Misses Liudleys sing, 
and we prepare the rest,” she said. 

Meantime the bustle and hurry of feet upon the stairs, and 
the laughing and greeting, announced the guests as gathering 
thick and fast. 

At last Mrs. Morrison thrust her head in at the dinin^*- 

o 

room door. 

“ If you’re going to begin at all,” she said, “ it’s nearly 
time, and the folk look exhausted.” 

Bess’s face glowed, and her eyes danced with excitement 
and exertion. 

“in one moment, aunt,” she cried. “In just one mo* 
ment ” 

As she said, the announcing bell rang next moment, and 


“JUDITH KILLETH HOLOFEENES.” 151 

every one fell into that breathless expectancy that precedes 
an exhibition of any kind. 

Bess had forced Mr. Little into a Paris-like attitude of 
wavering admiration, and given Belle Darcey’s head a ma- 
jestic twist as Juno. Nell fell naturally into an arch-decoy- 
ing Yenus, and Katie admitted of no suggestion or change 
in her idea of Minerva, calm and lofty. Just one moment 
given to the adjusting of folds and throwing back of drapery, 
and then Uncle Terry and Berkely answered Besses bell by 
slowly withdrawing the curtain on either side — and Mr. Lit- ^ 
tie became conscious of an intense desire to be ubiquitous as 
he found himself regarded by so many eyes, while the ladies 
felt a slight tightening of the breath, but a glow of enthusi- 
asm that upheld them through the ordeal, for they knew they 
were h)oking lovely. Another tinkle and it closed again, 
and then in answer to the encore re-opened twice. The god- 
desses, denuded of their immortality, hurried down and took 
off their robes celestial, to put on the livery of attendants 
of Egypt’s queen, who was in a state of agonizing uncer- 
tainty as to whether her hair should fall around her or be 
bound in pearls under her crown. Miss Warren, dressed as 
a rustic beauty, was endeavoring, in connection with Miss 
Waters, to persuade Miss Parker into the braids, but not 
even a dozen prints of the Royal beauty in different attitudes, 
but always in the one style of hair, could outweigh her re- 
presentative’s- desire to show the length and glossy texture 
of her own. 

“ I’ll let Bess decide,” she said at last, which admission 
greatly relieved her two attendants. The waiting women 
were to be dressed, and to them Miss Waters instantly de- 
voted herself, handing over the refractory Egyptian to 
Bess. 

“ Let me arrange it, and see if you like it,” said Bess. 

“ The village tableau will soon be over, and we don’t want 
even a nn^ment to elapse between them.” 

Under the scarlet and gold of the head-dress, the bands 
looked so well that Adah Parker could not object to Bess’s 


152 


THE M0RKI60NS. 


arrangement, and was hurried into an ancient couch, formed 
by two old high-backed chairs, draped with a red piano cover 
studded with stars of gold paper. Here, lying “ robed and 
gemmed, her crown about her brows,” the Roman soldiers 
found her. And Nelly, who was one of her attendants, said 
to Carrie Little, who was another, that she really didn’t 
imagine that Bess could have made such a beauty out of 
Adah Parker, who looked so well in the tomb of Isis, that 
it was a pity she should be brought back out of it into modern 
life. 

Then came the pause, in which the Misses Bindley sang 
melodiously, and all the ladies talked at once in the little 
dressing-room, while Bess and Miss Waters rushed hither 
and thither, gathering trinkets off the already exhibited, for 
new aspirants, and dressing Medora, who was to be the next 
in order. It was the most becoming of costumes to Katie, 
as well she knew, so she went on steadily adorning her- 
self for it, w’hile the village school and Roman warriors join- 
ed with the Eg3^ptian’s waiting-women in discussing the de- 
parted glories they had seen. 

“ I thought I should have died,” was a frequent exclama- 
tion, and “ I never saw anything so beautiful in my life,” 
was another. tt 

Mr. Li ( tie poetically described his tremors, and ascribed 
them to the responsible position of singling one from such a 
trio of loveliness. 

“ Wh(?re is Conrad ?” cried Bess, suddenly. “ Mr. Little, 
where is your Corsair dress ?” 

Katie, who was in complete Turkish costume, and needed 
nothing but the head ornaments, had admitted Mr. Little and 
klr. \¥arren into the council about the turban, and the late 
shepherd of Ida being thus adjured, looked round bewil- 
dered. 

“ Why, you know, Miss Saunders, that I received a note 

from Miss Morrison, ” he began, but she interrupted 

him. 

“Mr. Waters is going to do Conrad,” she said, quiePy, to 


153 


“JUDITH KILLETH HOLOFERNES.” 

Bess’s intense surprise ; he had part of the dress, and it 
was so becoming that I begged him to oblige us by bringing 
it to-night,” 

Nell, who had just come in appareled for the evening, 
pinched Bess’s arm secretly on hearing this, and looked de* 
lighted b(3yond expression. Miss Waters ran into the kitchen i 
to learn her brother’s progress in his new garments, and 
came back to beg male assistance, as he had “ forgotten 
how the confounded things went on.” 

Hearing this, Nelly’s amusement was redoubled. Under 
pretext of assisting to place the turban on gracefully, she 
looked slyly in her sister’s face, and was seized with a fit of 
coughing, at which Katie regarded her with mild displea- 
sure mixed with astonishment. 

“ The Lindleys have done singing, and the stage is ar- 
ranged. Come, Medora and Conrad, at once,” cried Bess. 

“ Conrad is winding his leggings round his neck, and his 
Corsair cap won’t stay on, unless its tacked on to his skull,” 
said Mr. Harrington, returning from the kitchen. 

At this appalling intelligence, Nelly Morrison indulged in 
what her sister called “ a vulgar fit of ha-ha-ing,” and Katie 
looked disturbed. 

“ Don’t worry yoursel%s,” cried the energetic little Miss 
Waters ; “ I’ll get him into those things, somehow, if you’re 
not critical as to effect. I really don’t understand their use 
myself, but I’ve no doubt I can get them all on him.” 

With this assurance, she sped away, and soon brought 
back the cheering intelligence that “ he was all right.” 

Perhaps such another Corsair never had been seen, as 
now emerged on the stage, of Bess’s earnest endeavors for 
artistic perfection. He was a round, good-humored figure 
in broadcloth; but in costume he looked stuffed to the verge 
of bursting, and Bess’s courage quailed at the sight. His 
sister had bound him neck and heels into the supposititious 
garments of a rover on the high seas, and a more pathetic 
object tlian he appeared, as he stood thus pinioned, had never 
met the eyes that rested on him. The little, long-tassellcd 


m 


THE MORETSONS. 


cap, which was palpably secured by hair-pins, but gradually, 
working down into the nape nf his neck, and the leggings 
* being designed for less protentous calves, refused to meet in 
the lacing, and displayed a relief of serpentine blue cord on 
aground of pink silk hose. To the attitude assumed by Mr. 
Waters, as the returned lover of the fair Medora, no words 
could do justice. 

“ You must fall naturally into a position expressive of de- 
light and rapture,’’ Katie said, in answer to his trembling 
enquiry of how he “ should fix himself.” 

With this end in view, mingled with an intense desire to cover 
as much of his limbs as possible with the short skirts of the pi- 
rate, he sunk backward and gathered up his legs like a trussed 
fowl. 

“ Oh, don’t, please, Mr. Waters !” cried Bess, faintly. “ That 
looks as if you were cowering and crouching before Katie ; take 
an easier position, pray do.” 

But Mr. Waters was immovable for a reason of his own, which 
transpired after the tableau had been twice shown, and Katie, 
covered with blushes and annoyance, refused to undergo a third 
exliibition. 

“ C(nne and give me a hand, Mr. Blake, if you’ll be so good,” 
implored the brave Corsair. “ I’ve gbt entangled with myself 
somehow,” and what had before appeared like dogged obstinacy 
now was explained to be an unhappy accident. The gold gimp 
adorning one part of his raiment, becoming loose, had fastened 
itself on his heel, and thus compelled his kneeling or squatting 
until extricated, when he made haste to divest himself of the silk 
and tinsel that had made him so wretched. 

Bess, where is Judith, the heroine of Israel ?” asked a voice 
at h('r side. 

8he looked round from her occupation of setting the little tea- 
table that was to represent a part in Uncle Terry’s idea of “ An 
old fashioned dish of Scandal,” in which Carrie Little, with a 
false nose and chin, and wig and spectacles, took a refreshing cup 
of the ladies’ beverage in company with a friend of like profile. 
They were meantime to be giving audience to an old Irish crone 


“ JUDITH KILLETH HOLOFERNES.” 155 

who carried the gossip of the village from house to house, and 
sold nicknacks in a basket. 

It was this character's suit that Bess had made merry in the 
night before Larry's arrival, but Miss Warren had kindly con- 
sented to make herself hideous on this occasion. 

It was Larry who spoke, but even Bess, who knew his ability 
to make himself what he wished, was astonished at the perfection 
of his dress and figure. He had evidently given his mind to it, 
for he disappeared shortly after the tableaux began, and the del- 
icate tinting of his complexion, the fierce curl of his moustache 
and darkening of his brows had all been the effect of careful 
work. 

“ You're a Holofernes worthy of my knife," said Bess ; “ and 
I’ll go and be Judithed this instant, if you, Mr. Morrison, will 
only attend to the tent and couch." 

Berkely gave a ready assent, and Bess flew into the little room 
from whence Miss Warren, Miss Parker, and Carrie Little were 
just issuing, dressed for the comic picture. 

It was greatly to Uncle Terry's pride and glory that this little 
scene created much amusement and laughter, and was encored 
again and again in the different attitudes and progress of the nar- 
rative of the old news-monger. 

It was over, and a low lounge was wheeled on the stage, and 
covered with the leopard-skin carriage robe of Dr. Dacey. The 
crimson curtains off Mrs. Morrison's window were elevated on a 
concealed clothes prop, and parted on either side of the warrior's 
couch, thus forming the outline of a tent. Having everything 
arranged, Berkely looked round for Bess ; all the dramatis per- 
sonae, whether in evening dress or with scarfs and shawls gather- 
ed over their fancy costumes, were clustered in the corners, anx- 
ious to see the closing tableau. Larry, looking a warrior of 
story in his glittering helmet and scarlet scaled with gold, dis- 
posed himself on the bed, and let his head-gear and spear and 
shield drop at his feet. There was no need to suggest grace or 
expression to him, he caught them both by nature, and looked 
, so perfectly what be was meant to represent, that even Berkely 
was obliged to compliment him. 


156 


THE M0ERIS0N8. 


“ Do you know, Larry,” he said, “ I would take pleasure in 
beheading you if I were a Judith, and IVe no doubt your cousin 
will feel the same when she sees you.” 

She had come as he spoke, and he stepped back amazed at the 
transformation. 

Bess had made her own dress, and certainly spared no pains in 
ts perfection. The only colors in it were purple and white and 
gold, but the fantastic shining figures winding in and out of the 
heavy purple folds gave it an antique air that made one close 
tlieir eyes to its modern texture. On her head she wore a black 
turban entwined with bands of rubies in glittering paste ; long 
strings of pearls fell on her white shoulders, and her neck and 
arms shone with jewels. 

Not one lock of her fair hair could be seen, and the darkness 
of her brows was heightened, which gave her face its altered air ; 
she held out her hand for the sabre, and looked approvingly at 
Larry. 

“ Lie with your head a little forward, so that my dress wonT 
throw you into shadow, then you’ll be perfect,” she said. 

“ You’ve kept the best wine till the last,” said IJncle Terry, 
“ for I never saw the equal of you both.” 

Larry took Bess’s suggestion about his position, and she drew 
herself close beside the curtain, her hands grasping the knife, and 
her whole face and figure nerving itself for the blow. 

Miss Waters had taken the bell, but, looking at the picture, 
she forgot to sound it. Berkely nodded to Uncle Terry, a,nd 
they withdrew the curtain. 

“Judith Killeth Holofernes,” 

said Berkely, announcing the subject. There was not a sound in 
all tlie room. Berkely knew Bess would not bear that it should 
be repeated ; the tension on thought and nerve was so great, 
that, for the moment, she felt herself the widow who had put on 
guy attire and done violence to save her people, so he allowed 
the pieture^to fix itself on the minds of the audience before he 
gave Terry the signal to close. Slowly the curtain came 
togethei^ and Larry sprang up laughing. ^ 


‘‘JUDITH KILLETH H0L0FERNE8.” 157 

“ I could feel the lightning of your eye, Bess,” he said ; “ and 
I actually lay there trembling for my head.” 

Bess shuddered and dropped the sword. It was a light imita- 
tion thing, with a silvered blade, and in no wise belonged to the 
hands that grasped it or the eyes that aimed it. 

“ Go and dress while I take these things away,” whispered 
Berkely in her ear. She recovered herself at the sound of his 
voice, and the fierceness died out of her eyes, the hard lines about 
her mouth relaxed, and she turned quickly, almost rudely, away 
from the compliments addressed to her, and ran up the back 
stairway into her own room. 

It was only a little while until she came down in her evening 
dress, as unlike Judith, in long, loose flowing ringlets of pale gold, 
and a gossamer dress of delicate blue, as it was possible to ima- 
gine her. 

She found, short as her absence had been, that it had done 
much for the back parlor ; platform, back-ground, and curtain, 
were removed, the chandelier was lighted, and the piano rolled 
into place, and all ready for the dancing to commence. 

Mrs. Lawrence Morrison, in right of her position as bride, and 
her own beauty, was belle of the evening ; but Bess’s Judith was 
the theme of every tongue, although, through some odd contra- 
diction of feeling, it had become hateful to her. Every mention 
or allusion to it made her shrink and flush painfully. 

Supper was announced, and the party crowded ba,ck into the 
dining-room, filling it completely. Bess, for once, had nothing 
to do with serving the guests. The expert sable gentleman did 
everything, and Berkely and Larry directed their exertions. She 
was standing directly behind Juliet, with Dr. Dacey, whose plate 
she was superintending, when she heard one of the gentlemen 
speaking of Larry’s performance to his wife. 

“ How perfectly he dressed ; and what an admirable position 
he assumed.” 

“ He looks well in any style of dress,” said Juliet, smiling and 
gratified ; “ but that dreadful Miss Saunders, isn’t she terrible ? 
She really made me shuider. I cannot admire that tragic kind 
of person ; they’re at once unnatural and uncomrurtable, I think.” 


158 


THE M0KEIS0N8. 


The gentleirian (it was Mr. Harrington who spoke,) de- 
murred, politely : 

“ She is exceedingly handsome, to my mind : a littlo 
haughty, or severe, or whatever you may choose to call it, 
bnt, certainly, handsome.’’ 

Juliet laughed, a thin, sharp laugh, and a little angry withal. 

“ One would think you gentlemen bewitched by Miss 
Saunders,” she said. “ Mr. Morrison is just as bad, and nev(a'‘ 
ceases admiring her ; I cannot, for my life, see why.” 

Bess answered vaguely the Doctor’s comments on the eve- 
ning’s entertainment. She was thinking — “ Tliis, then, is 
the reason why she avoids and shrinks from me.” She felt 
humbled and distressed • for like most cold-manner’d women, 
she had a yearning, sensitive soul, and to be misunderstood 
or disliked was a bitter pain to her. In his dread of a confi- 
dence springing up between them, it had been Larry’s earn- 
est effort to effect this end ; but she, who was at once keen 
and quick-witted, was, at the same time, the least suspicious 
of human beings. She saw his character black and hideous 
enough, and didn’t wish to add a shade to its tarnished hue. 
She strove not to see or think of him, and caught at every 
hurry and excitement to feed her active mind, and keep it 
from gnawing at her heart. 

She was very, very weary, to-night ; .and, after supper, 
sank back in a corner of the sofa. While tlie dancers 
whirled by her. Miss Waters left her niece, and came and 
joined her. 

“ You’re tired, I know, and it’s shameful to bother you,” 
she said, “ but I want to tell you hoW delighted 1 have been 
by the tableaux.” 

“I should tell you,” said Bess, rousing herself, “how 
much they owe to your kind and efficient aid. I don’t know 
what we should have done without you.” 

“ Don’t mention it : we generally do wdiat pleases ourselves 
and then think it a great virtue in us. I like to help about 
such pretty' things; it’s a thorough treat to me, and I de- 
serve no praise for eiijtjying it.” 


159 


JUmTII KTLTJrni nOLOP'ERXF.s/’ 

She looked rouud ilio room an instant, and added, quickly: 

“ AVhat a veiy sweet-lo(jking girl your cousin. Miss Morri- 
son, is. She has a truly classic face.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” assented Bess. “ Katie is perfectly lovely 
to-night.” 

“ My brother thinks so,” said Miss Waters, shortly. 

“ I can scarcely see who could help it; and I dare say 
Mr. Waters has excellent taste.” 
j “ Taste is one thing, and common sense is another,” his 
i sister began, as if about to enter on a lengthened discourse; 

! but she checked herself suddenly, by saying : “ I’ve never 
! had any of that.” 

Bess, not knowing how to meet this statement, remained 
silent. 

“ Therefore, as Joe has no judgment,” continued Miss 
Waters, “ I consider it my^ duty to choose for him. Yes, 
she’s a very pretty^ girl ; but then tliey’re a handsome 
family — Mr. Lawrence is quite a picture, and Miss Nellie is 
so arch and winning.” 

Bess colored sligh.tly. “ I consider myself so neo,rly allied 
to them, that discussing their merits critically is not in good 
taste on my part,” she said, smiling. 

Miss Waters answered readily : 

“ You’re quite right, and I’m ashamed of myself for drawing 
you into it. Joe admires Miss Morrison ; I saw that the in- 
si nnt th(?y met ; she is not averse to his homage, I see that, 
this (-• veiling. I’ve a kind of habit of tumbling out my mind, 
as the Duchess of Marlborough said. Forgive me for having 
a sisterly desire to find out your opinion.” 

Up came Lariy, with Adah Parker on his arm. 

“ Are you saying that Judith was too natural, as your silly 
little niece does, Aunt Charlotte ?” he asked. 

“ Oh, Miss Saunders, it was the best tableau of them all ; 
ev(M-ybody says so,” said Adah. 

“ I wasn’t speaking of the picture at all, Lawrence,” said 
Miss Waters ; “ but, now that you mention it, I agree with 


160 


THE MORRISONS. 


Miss Parker, it was the picture of the evening, and Miss 
Saunders was a perfect Judith.’^ 

“ Pray let us be still. Miss Lindley is going to sing with 
Mrs. Morrison,” said Bess, looking confused and distressed 
under the compliments they were paying her. 

Miss Waters and Miss Parker moved forward into the cir 
cle surrounding the singers, and Larry, coming close beside- 
her, whispered in her ear : 

“ Wliy do you reject the laurels you have won ? You 
were so beautiful, that I almost wished there had been an 
edge to that tinseled thing, that L might have died the death 
I deserve at your hand.” 

If Bess had considered the man she had to deal with, she 
would have known that nothing would have piqued or 
heightened his desire to gain her attention, so much as in- 
difference to him, and all he might think or say. She now 
simply looked towards his pretty wife, who was twirling a 
piece of music, preparatory to beginning to sing, and glanc- 
ing nervously at her husband’s earnest face. Moving a step 
or two, so that her arm could rest on the mantel, Bess 
became absorbed in the song. Larry followed her, and con- 
tinued to speak in the same under-tone, still growing more 
ardent and pleading. 

“ Why do you not blame me, Bess ? Your magnanimity 
J will kill me ; I am not worthy of it.” 

She looked over to the other side of the room, where 
Berkely sat by his aunt, and caught his eye. 

“ Shall I call my cousin here ?” he said, tauntingly, as he 
followed her glance. “ Ah, Bess, do you think I cannot see 
your plan ?” 

She never spoke, but felt that his wife was watching her 
troubled face, and spoiling her song by guessing at its cause. 
There were so many pressing round them, that it was impos- 
sible to free herself from his contact : she scarcely knew 
whether a dread of attracting attention, or a wild desire to 
get away from him, were the stronger in her breast, when a 


“JUDITH KILLETH HOLOFERNES.” 161 

good, truthful voice, at her shoulder, with a faint touch of 
timidity in it, said : 

“ Miss Saunders, you are being crushed here ; shan’t I 
give you my place in this recess ?” 

She darted a glance, full of grateful thanks, at Mr. Waters, 
and instantly glided into the place he had vacated for her. 
He did her a still greater favor by closing her in with his 
hurley figure, and cutting oflf Larry’s design in follow- 
ing her. 

Bess breathed freely, and looked in Mr. Waters’ yuddy face, 
glowing with health and basliful good humor. 

“ Do you like, that kind of singing. Miss Saunders ?” he 
asked, abruptly. 

She looked at him inquiringly. 

“ Miss Liudley’s and young Mrs. Morrison’s, do you mean ?” 
she asked, smiling. 

“ Yes, theirs, or any of the young ladies who sing now-a-days; 
it’s bewildering, you knojv, actually bewildering.” 

Bess, whose mind was wool-gathering about Mrs. Larry’s in- 
stantly retiring at the conclusion of her song, and Katie’s being 
sent for, while Nelly and Miss Warren sat down to play a duett 
together, answered vaguely : 

“ Yes, I suppose you find it so — certainly.” 

“ Why any one would,” said Mr. Waters, in an injured tone. 
“ In the first place, they repeat the words till you lose their 
sense, and then they do that horrid invention they call trilling, 
that makes you nearly mad as you try to follow it in your own 
mind I Oh, it’s shocking. Now you don’t sing, Charley says, 
so I can tell this to you without dread of an explosion.” 

“ No, I don’t sing, Mr. Waters, as you say; but I think your 
niece has a charming voice ; it is not her fault that the fashion'' 
able songs are arranged so, you know.” 

“ Oh, I don’t blame Juliet ; but if she would only shorten ’em 
a little — sort of curtail the trills. Don’t you believe she could 
do something of that sort, if she tried ?” he asked, seriously. 

While Bess, with an anxious eye watching for Katie’s reap- 
pearance, answered him abruptly, the dancing recommenced, and 


162 


TUE MORRTSONS. 


part of the company be^an to leave. Larry was not in sight 
and begging her companion’s pardon for deserting him, Bess 
hurried to her aunt’s side, who was still in conversation with 
Berkely. 

“ Is there anything wrong ?” she asked, in a whisper. 

“ Juliet fainted from the heat, Larry says,” answered her 
aunt, mysteriously, in the same tone ; “ but if you believe me, 
I’d be willing to lay my life, it was nothing but the singing. 
Sure it was worse than a hard day’s labor what she went through 
with, straining her throat at that last tilt she sung.” 

“ Is she ill ?” asked Bess, showing by her changed color the 
alarm she felt. 

“Not now, and Katie’s with her, so is Larry. We’re to 
make no stir whatever, you know ; it would be unpleasant, and 
Katie will>J^e back in a few moments.” 

Katie cai]{\% and evidently apologized to the departing guests, 
for Mrs. Larry’s absence ; there was a set still dancing, and a 
few lingering round the pictures and over the piano, but the 
greater portion of the company were cloaked and hooded, or on 
their way to the dressing-room. 

Another hour, and the lights in the chandeliers were out, the 
parlors were emptied, and only a faint side-light glimmered, to 
show the broken bouquets, the disarranged furniture, the scat- 
tered music, and drooping wreaths that had been so pretty a few 
hours before. 

Katie was still up in Juliet’s room, but Nellie and her mother 
were gone to bed. Uncle Terry had made his escape upward 
soon after the dancing began, and there was no one astir in the 
house but Bess, who was overlooking the clearance in the dining- 
room, so that she might be sure of breakfast being laid in order 
next morning. 

Slie was very tired, and worked with difficulty — half the time 
forgetting what she held in her hand, or where she meant to 
place it. Ellen O’Toole, who saw the folly and vanity of all 
eartlily entertainments very clearly just then, was aiding her more 
in counsel than act. 

“ Sure it’s a black botheration, Miss Bess, and thim that yo 


JUDTTIT KTLLlOTn IIOLOr'EUNES.” 1(?3 

sarve wid the best, and that’s aitin and drnnkin at ycr expense, 
is the last to rise a hand to help ye whin yer wantin’. My 
father’s brother had a bit of town land of his own, and a good 
lump of a house over his head ; but wid feastiu’ this one, and 
that one, an’ havin’ all the riff-raff ov the coimthry flockin’ till 
be stuffed wid his dainties, he come to a poor ind at the long 
run. Not, Miss, that I’m comparin’ the likes of Pether O’Toole 
to you, for he was a horse-daler, and tuck to dilnkin’ an’ sweariu’ 
naturally; but there’s a moral to everything.” 

“ Ellen,” said Bess, suddenly catching at the sideboard to 
save herself from falling, “ come here. I’m going blind. What 
is the matter with my head ? Quick, shut the door, and get 
me some winter I” 

Ellen dropped a dish of mangled jelly with a crash, and flew 
to her mistress’ side. She had become a deadly whi’e in color, 
and lay back against the wall with closed eyes ^ d drooping 
head. Ellen w^as a strong-armed woman, so with no more ado, 
she lifted the fainting girl and laid her on the lounge beside the 
window, and then emptying the lees of different w-ine bottles in 
one glass, held it to her lips, and forced her to swallow a mouth- 
ful. 

“ Aisy now, darlint ; ye’ll soon be yerself agin ; will I call 
your aunt, or the young leddies ? Sure they’d be sorry to see 
ye like this.” 

“ Don’t stir,” cried Bess, sitting up in alarm ; “ I’m quite W(‘ll 
again, it was only for a moment ; but I’ll have to go up to my 
room, and. leave the rest to y^ou.” 

“ Don’t spake ov it, Miss, dear ; why I’ll fly at the table and 
have everything off before yer well up stairs. An’ if ye’ll say 
the word, Pll stir up some whisky and sugar wid . a sup ov hot 
wather, an’ it ’ll make ye feel like a new craythur.” 

Resisting this kindly preferred cordial, Bess resigned the par 
tially cleared table into Ellen O’Toole’s hands, and burning, ana 
shuddering by turns under a paroxysm of fever, crept up to her 
room, and entered her door as the hall-clock struck five. 

11 


104 


THE MOKUISONS. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

THE SHADOW OF A WRONG. 

It was nearly noon next day when the family assembled in 
the breakfast-room, and yawning and a little bit depressed, re- 
curred to last night’s gayeties. 

“ But where’s Bess ?” exclaimed Mrs. Morrison, looking round 
in amazement as Ellen signified the coffee to be ready. “ I’m so 
flustered this morning, with one thing and another, that I never 
thought to ask for her till this minute.” 

“ I knocked at her door this morning, and got no answer,” 
said Jenny Brackett. “ Miss Bess must be sick, cause she’d 
been down if she was well, sure.” 

“No, she’s not really sick,” said Nelly ; “ but she worked so 
hard at those things yesterday that I’ve begged her to rest to- 
day till it’s time to go to the Littles’. I’m going to take her up 
some tea.” 

Uncle Terry glanced up in approving surprise. 

“ Nelly, you’re a jewel, and have done a good deed, if you’ve 
persuaded Bess tc rest.” 

“ Is Miss Saunders ill ?” asked Juliet, gently. “ I supposed 
she was very healthy ; she looks so.” 

“ There,” cried Uncle Terry, “ that is her footstep in the hall. 
I knew Nell couldn’t induce her to take care of herself.” 

She came in as he spoke, and looked very wretched and unlike 
Judith, or the appearance she had made in the delicate blue 
dress. 

“ Good morning,” she said. “ You are all looking better than 
I do ; but I’ve caught cold, I suppose, and shall have to stop at 
home and mope, while you see the Christmas-tree to-night and 
hear a Christmas sermon to-morrow.” 

“ Not so serious as that, I hope, Bess,” said Nelly ; “ only 
take my advice and rest, and you’ll be ever so much better by 
night.” 


THIV. v'lHArx W OF A WRONG. 


165 


But Bess had made up her mind, and insisted on calling her 
illness a cold, and treating it to a shawl and hoarhonnd tea ; hut 
neither lying down nor keeping her own room. Mrs. Larry 
paused beside her to speak quite kindly before going up to dress 
for a drive with Larry and Nell, and Mrs. Morrison had to be 
coaxed into keeping their engagement witli the Littles, in her 
anxiety to stay home and nurse Bess. At length, the party that 
had been out riding returned, and all started together to the 
Littles. The dinner had not been eaten with Christmas ardor, 
although Bess took care to have it Christmas in fare. It was 
late when they dined, and immediately after they dressed it was 
time to go. 

Just as the carriage drove up that the ladies were to go in, 
Katie ran down into the dining-room, where Bess was, and 
whispered in her ear ; 

“ Please lend me your bracelets, Bess, I’ll take care of them ; 
and my plain gold bands look out of taste with this heavy bro- 
cade of mine.” 

Bess sprang up instantly, and ran up stairs ; in a moment she 
came back with a large black morocco box, and laid it before her. 
Katie glanced over it, and then turned to her cousin in surprise. 

“Why, Bess, they’re not here 1” she exclaimed. 

Bess colored and hesitated. 

“ I thought it might be the pearls, or these jet and gold ones, 
that you wanted,” she said timidly. 

Katie tossed them in a heap into the case again. 

“ You know I never could endure pearls on the arms, Bess ; 
but if you preferred not letting me have your real jewels, you 
might have said so, and not troubled yourself to bring this 
trumpery down.” 

“ Katie, I have not got the dianionds, they are at the jewel- 
er’s. I would have brought them at once if it had not been for 
that.” * 

Katie was thoroughly provoked ; there were few subjects on 
which she felt so keenly as that of her own appearance, and 
having made up her mind to wear a certain style of dress, she 
resented any inopportiuie event that made her change it. 


166 


THE MOIiRISONS. 


“ You have never worn them since they were mended last, 
Bess ; but they are your own, you know, and you are riglit to 
be careful of them if you wish to.” 

Bess’s cheeks grew redder than ever, and for a moment she 
gave her cousin an indignant angry glance ; but it died away in 
tears, and she sate down trembling. 

“ Please don’t speak so, Katie. I should be so glad if I had 
them here to offer you. You know that, Katie, as well as I can 
tell you.” 

Katie looked into the box a second time, and as she glanced 
at the jets, became a little mollified. 

“ I depended on the diamonds, Bess, and it was so annoying 
to be disappointed ; but these jets will do better than nothing, 
if I may have them.” 

Bess rose hastily and clasped the bracelets on the wliite arms 
of her cousin ; they looked still whiter with the shining black 
bands around them, and Katie became almost satisfied at the 
change, when she saw how pretty they were. 

“ We are waiting, Katie,” cried Nell, from the hall. 

“Put these away — quick, Bess ; don’t let Juliet know they 
are not mine : she is just one of those little-minded people that 
you had better not trust with your small affairs. Ah, there 3^ou 
are, all prepared,” she cried gaily, as the object of her restric- 
tions appeared in elegant toilet at the door. “ Oh, what a per- 
fect dress, Juliet ! Those white acacias on that lilac ground are 
lovely. Just see, Bess ; isn’t it perfect ?” 

“ You can get that style of thing nowhere so well as at Stew- 
art’s,” said Nell ; “ and when Larry goes home, Pll insist on his 
getting us something like this.” 

“ That brocade of Miss Saunders is far more elegant than 
any I saw there,” said Juliet, candidly. “ I think it is perfectly 
exquisite.” 

“ A convention on that mighty theme — dress, Berkely ; and 
the coachman, driven to desperation, in the cold waiting foi 
tliem. Come on, in mercy’s name !” 

Larry thrust in his head to say this, and Bess, drawing bei 
shawl around her, went towards the door to see them off.. 


THE SHADOW OF A WKONO. 


167 


“ Let us pack Juliet in last,” said Larry, escorting his mother 
down the steps. “ She has such a variety of frills and flounces, 
that she will need all the room left to bestow them in.” 

“ Take care of yourself, Bess,” cried her aunt, from the car- 
riage. 

Bess leant forward to assure her that she would, and as she 
did so, she caught sight of a lady, richly dressed, coming up the 
walk, with a step that seemed familiar to her. Katie and Nellie 
had got in, and Larry was just crossing the pavement, with his 
wife, when the lady approached and slowly passed by them. 
She was a very handsome woman, with a cold, proud face, a 
striking figure, and half-defiant air. She looked first at Bess, 
but it was only a glance, and then she turned her eyes on Larry 
— a long, full, searching look that held him, while she came up 
and leisurely crossed his path. 

“ Who is that ?” said Juliet, eagerly, from the window. “What 
a very odd looking woman ; and how she stared I” 

“ Drive on,” said Larry, white as a ghost, and speaking ex- 
citedly. “Put your head in, Juliet. Start on, driver; start 
on, I say ! By Jove I the fellow was in a great taking to get 
off, and now he creeps like a snail.” 

The carriage rattled away ; passed the tall figure of the hand- 
some woman, the only one in all the square, and turned out into 
the main street. 

Bess had gone back into the house and closed the door. 

“ Let us walk this way,” said Larry ; “ I want to get the New 
York papers at a stationer’s below here.” 

Berkely fell into his wake without speaking, and Larry hur- 
ried on, for a moment or two, in great haste. 

They reached the block down which the carriage had gone, 
md then he slackened his pace and glanced over his shoulder. 
The woman who passed him was not in sight. He walked slow- 
ly and looked covertly at Berkely. 

“ Splendid looking creature that ; was she not ?” he asked. 

Berkely struck the snow off the end of his cane on a tree-box 
they passed, and asked carelessly : 

“ Who is a splendid creature ?” 


168 


THE MORRISONS. 


“Ah, I thought you saw her,” said Larry in the same tone, 
but watching his companion's face narrowly. “ The woman who 
brushed past Juliet as I handed her into the carriage.” 

“ Do you know her ?” asked Berkely. 

“She is an actress; and Bve seen her,” said Larry; “but 
here comes Uncle Terry. Why, I thought you were to stay at 
home with 'Bess, uncle ?” 

“ So I am, boy ; but I’ve been down for a book, you see,” said 
the old man, displaying a yellow and aged copy of the “ Three 
Spaniards.” “ Bess likes a bit of romance, and we’ll have a won- 
derful night of it entirely.” 

“I envy you. Uncle Terry,” said Larry, with every appear- 
ance of truth. “ I shall, be thankful when this week of being 
trotted out in my new character is over ; it’s a horrid bore,” he 
added, turning to Berkely as the old man left them. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A FIRST GRIEF FOR JULIET. 

The spacious parlors of the Little Mansion were all aglow 
with light. The guests, returning from tea, had found them 
brilliantly illuminated, and the curtain that hid the Christmas 
tree removed, and numberless tiny little candles glittering among 
the present-ladened branches. Old Mr. Little, in the dress of 
Santa Claus, resonant with tinkling bells, and wrapped in snowy 
furs, appeared, and, in a Christmas poem, written by his gifted 
son, welcomed the guests and distributed the gifts. 

While every one stood hushed in admiration and interest, a 
servant man entered softly and touched Berkely Morrison on the 
arm. 

“There’s a lady wants to speak to you, sir.” 

“ A lady !” said Berkely, starting in surprise, as the image of 


A FIRST GRIEF FOR JULIET. 


169 


Addie West rose instantly before him ; “ are you sure she wants 

“ It’s Miss Saunders,” said the man, and, in a moment, Berke- 
ly was in the hall beside her. 

She was sitting on one of the tall oaken chairs, and had a 
hood and cloak on. It was snowing outside, and the flakes had 
almost whitened her head-gear ; she must have come in grea 
haste, for she was out of breath, and labored hard to speak. 

Berkely stood before her in great alarm, but could scarcely 
find words to question her. 

“ There was a message came for Uncle Terry. It was from 
New York — a telegram — and meant for Larry, but enclosed to 
uncle lest he should be absent. Mr. Waters, Juliet’s father, is 
dying.” 

Berkely looked round quickly as the door opened behind him, 
and some one came out. It was Larry. He drew him out 
quickly towards them, and closed the door, holding the handle 
as he spoke. 

“ Miss Saunders has a message for you, from New York. I 
am sorry to say it is bad news ; the only hope is, that fear has 
exaggerated the reality.” 

So saying, he gave Larry the slip of paper on which the mes- 
sage was printed, and which he had received from Bess. 

Larry looked at it with knitted brows, and seemed to think 
deeply in the moment’s silence that ensued. 

‘‘ We must tell her, I suppose,” he said, at length, still hold- 
ing the message, and apparently reading it over. 

“ Let me get the carriage first,” said Berkely. “ She had best 
get home as soon as possible.” 

He caught up his hat and cloak from the rack, and darted 
out. In the few seconds that Bess and Larry stood silent after 
Berkely left tliem, his face wore an oddly ruminating expression 
that was new to it, and he seemed scarcely conscious of her pro 
sence as he weighed some unknown matter in his thoughts. 

“ I’ll go home and be ready to receive her,” said Bess, sud- 
denly. 

“ Wait/’ said Larry, and he looked at his watch ; “ had I best 


170 


THE MORRISONS. 


tell her after all ? It is nearly ten now, and the last train goes 
at twelve ; that would take us into New York at four in the 
morning at this bitter weather. Ugh 1’^ and he shuddered at the 
thought. 

“ 1 will tell her, if you do not,” said Bess, slowly, as she gath 
ered her cloak around her. “ Her aunt says in the message that 
her father has asked for her. Remember, she must go.” 

With that she closed the door, and, hurrying out into the 
street, now white with falling snow, ran homewards. Although 
she had almost flown over the ground, she had scarcely got her 
wet cloak from around her, and lighted the parlors, when the 
carriage wheels resounded in the streets. Uncle Terry, who had 
a positive dread of encountering any one in mental agony, had 
betaken himself to liis own room, while Ellen O’Toole, who, on 
the contrary, was* the most sympathetic of living beings, was 
drawing tea and mending fires, as if those two personal comforts 
were panaceas for any ill. 

“ Quick, here, with some water,” cried Larry’s voice, when 
the wheels stopj^ed. Bess met him in the hall, with his wife in 
his arms ; her fur-lined opera-cloak fell off her white arms, her 
head being over his shoulder, while her face was pale as 
death. 

Beliind her, crowded the frightened faces of her aunt and 
cousins. Poor Mrs. Morrison was absolutely speechless with dis- 
tress. 

“ Has she fainted ?” asked Bess. 

“ Yes, she was scarcely a moment conscious after they told 
her ; so we just got her into the carriage, and drove home as 
fast as we could,” said Nell, in a subdued whisper. 

They laid her on a sofa, and poured wine and water down her 
throat ; they chafed her cold hands and bathed her temples ; 
presently she opened her eyes and sate up. Slie was silent for a 
little time, as if bewildered, and then she said, in a frightened 
whisper : 

“ Is it true, oil tell nve, is it true ?” 

Bess held a glass with some pungent smelling liquid to her 
lips. 


A FIRST GRIEF FOR JULIET. 


171 


** Drink this, please, Mrs. Morrison,” she said, in a voice Ml 
of gentle sympathy. 

The young wife looked into the friendly face that’ bent over 
her, and catching the hand that held the glass, she kept it in her 
own until she drained it ; then she got up, and gathered her 
falling hair into her comb. 

“ I am quite myself now, darling,” she said, turning to her 
husband, and speaking in a faint, broken voice. “ I want to 
lose no time, you know ; let us go at once.” 

Larry took her hand, and putting his arm around her, drew 
her into a chair. 

“ Girls, get her traveling things ready, we must bo gone in 
half an hour,” he said ; and then turned to his wife and seemed 
to whisper soothingly to her. 

Bess ran upstairs, followed by Nell, and together they packed 
a carpet-bag with such things as they thought would be needed 
at once, from Juliet's wardrobe. In a little while, Katie and 
Mrs. Morrison led Juliet up, and dressed her for her mournful 
journey. She was very quiet and almost composed, but her face 
had changed into a hard rigidity, that was very unlike the 
bright, mobile beauty of an hour before. 

“ Girls,” said Mrs. Morrison, suddenly, “ one of you should go 
with her. She docs not look like herself, and before all's over, 
may have a fever, or something of the sort.” 

Katie and Nellie exchanged glances. Larry caught at the 
idea at once. 

Yes, girls, both of you come, if it is only for a day or two ; 
she is not able to think of anything just now ; the shock's too 
great, and it will be a kindness to us both.” 

Katie took Bess aside for a moment or two, and then both 
sisters ran into their own rooms, and Bess went with them to 
fold up a dress and morning gown for each, beside the traveling 
gear they wore busy putting on. A few more things caught up 
at random, filled a small trunk that Berkely produced ; and five 
minutes before the time Larry had given them to be ready in, 
they all stood in the lower hall, waiting for the carriage. 

** God bless you and strengthen you in your hour of need, 


172 


THE MORRISONS. 


dear,” said Mrs. Morrison, folding her daughter-in-law in her 
arms. “ His grace be about you ; trust in Him and he’ll never 
forsake you !” 

The tears were all on the old lady’s part ; Juliet neither wept 
nor moaned, but remained cold and silent, with her eyes looking 
away out into the stormy night, as if she were only anxious to 
be gone. Berkely had put the girls in the carriage, and telling 
Ijarry to write to him for any thing he might be able to serve 
him in, ran up the steps to assist the poor young wife down the 
slippery sidewalk. She turned on the topmost steps, and catch- 
ing Bess’s hand, kissed it ; then, without a word, hurried away. 
The coach-door closed with a crash. 

“ See the Waters to-morrow,” cried Larry, from the window ; 
and it rolled away as if for life. 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

BESS OFF DUTY. 

Early on Monday morning the old-fashioned green carriage 
of the Waters’ family stopped at the house in Burleigh Place. 
Miss Charlotte and her brother got out, and without waiting for 
the coachman to dismount, ran up and rang the bell. Jenny 
Brackett answered it at once, in a countenance whose solemnity 
was as uimsual as her alacrity. Mrs. Morrison was in, — she 
would take up the cards, and with rare brevity, she ushered them 
into the darkened parlor. The shutters had long black stream- 
ers floating from their closed centres, and the whole front of the 
house was blinded. Miss Waters herself wore a dark dress and 
bonnet, and was shrouded in a black veil. The door opened, 
and Berkely entered. It might have been the dull light, but he, 
too, seemed pale and sad, in keeping with the house. 

“ My aunt will be here presently. Miss Waters,” he said. “ I 
came down to beg you to excuse her for making you wait. We 


BESS OFF DUTY. 173 

have a serious illness here, and she is greatly distressed by the 
double trial.” 

“Illness, Mr. Morrison; who is ill?” asked Miss Waters, 
quickly throwing up her veil, and showing a poor, worried face, 
not at all beautified by a pair of very red eyes. 

“ Miss Saunders was taken ill immediately after they all left 
for New York, and tlic doctor tells us it is brain fever,” answered 
Bc'ikely, with a strong effort to appear calm, but an unmis- 
takable appearance of feeling deeply what he said. 

“ Heaven help me !” said Miss Waters. “ Miss Saunders 1 
why she’s the only practicable member of the family, and a 
brain fever too. I can’t understand it.” 

While she pondered on this distracting news, Mrs. Morrison 
came in, looking so pale and worn, that it was hard to realize 
that only three days had gone since they saw each other under 
such different circumstances. 

“ I am surprised out of my own trouble, Mrs. Morrison, by 
hearing of yours,” said the good-natured little woman, rising 
and taking the elder one’s hand. 

“You may well say trouble. Miss Waters,” cried Mrs. 
Morrison, breaking down at once, and weeping bitterly. 
“ Here we are, the girls gone, and Bess, the hope and stay of 
the house, stretched at death’s door. 0, Miss Waters, dear, 
if I was to lose her, it would be a loss indeed ; she’s all in all 
to me 1” 

“ It cannot be as bad as that,” said Miss Waters, earn- 
testly. “ Who is your doctor, and what does he say ?” 

“ Miss Saunders was taken so suddenly, that we were at a 
loss to know whom to call in. Hr. Windell is a physician 
Uncle Terry knew, and I went for him at once. I have every 
confidence in his skill, and be hopes for the best.” Borkely 
interposed to say this, and Mrs. Morrison then went on to say, 
that the family could not rest after the party had gone to New 
York ; that she herself, being restless, had risen, and put- 
ting on a gown, come down stairs, thinking she heard some 
one moving ; that, true enough, there was Boss, wandering 
up and down the parlors, in a high fever, and “ entirely wrong 


174 


THE MOERISONS. 


iu tho head,” as her aunt expressed it ; that they had got her 
to bed, but that there was no rest for lier, for there she lay, 
^tossing and moaning, and moaning and tossing, till it made 
her heart ache to see her. 

Have you written to your daughters of this, Miss Morri- 
son asked Miss Waters. 

“ Well, I can’t say we have. Miss Waters, for you see I 
am too through-other to write, and Berkely has been run- 
ning with prescriptions, and one thing and another, so that 
it has not seemed easy to think of anything else.” 

“ Mrs. Morrison, I’m going to surprise you, I suppose,” 
said Miss IVaters, resolutely ; “ but I mean to remain here 
and take care of your niece, till the young ladies return. I 
could do brother John no good by simply going to his grave 
with him ; as for seeing him again, I prefer remembering him 
as I looked at him last.” Here she broke down and indulged 
in a good hearty cry, for a few minutes, then wiped her eyes 
and went on, decidedly : “ So, Joe, dear, you can go back 
and start in the noon train. Tell the poor, little orphan how 
my heart aches for her; but she must understand that, having 
her Aunt Edmonds and the girls, I am needed less there than 
elsewhere.” 

Mrs. Morrison did appear astonished at this summary 
^proceeding, but Berkely encouraged it strongly, in word and 
manner. 




1 


“ I’ll not see Miss Saunders now, Mrs. Morrison,” she went 
on to say. “I’ll just go home with Brother Joe — see him 
safely started — get a gown for myself, and be back again in 
less than an hour.” 


“ Indeed and indeed, ma’am, you’re both kind and oblig- 
ing,” said Mrs. Morrison, partially recovered from the 
strangeness of the proposition ; “ but poor Bess knows no 
one now, and maybe it would be too hard for you to^ — ” 

“ I mean to ccane and nurse Miss Saunders, my dear Mrs. 
Morrison, if 3mu’ll allow me, so we need say no. more about 
trouble, or that sort of nonsense. I have jjkmty of trouble 
on my heart j my poor, dear brother’s .o ittoss, that I feel 


A FIKST GRIKF FOR JULIET. 175 

as clc^^ply as if I were following in his funeral train as chief 
mourner.” 

Mr. Waters, who had limited his conversation to the few- 
est monosyllables, but who had looked deeply impressed and 
affected by all that was said, now rose, and, offering his 
hand to Berkely and Mrs. Morrison, departed in all grief and 
solemnity. 

In less than an hour Miss Waters returned, as she had 
said, and being ushered up stairs, by Jenny Brackett, entered 
poor Bess’s darkened room, noiselessly, having disposed of her 
cloak and bonnet below stairs. 

Mrs. Morrison was seated on a low chair, at the bed-side, 
and rose to meet her as she entered ; but, silently as she 
stepped, the figure on the bed heard her and rose up, crying 
out and waving her arms about wildly. 

“There, you see. Miss Waters, my poor, dear girl, cannot 
bear a sound. Oh I what will we do, anyway, what will we 
do And poor Mrs. Morrison, weak and broken down for 
w^ant of rest, gave way to tears again. 

Miss Waters’ first effort was to lead her forcibly into her 
own room, and then insist on her lying down to rest, solemnly 
pledging herself to rouse her at the faintest sign in Bess of 
missing her, or desiring her presence. Having accomplished 
this, she returned to the bed-side of her patient, and, softly, 
arranged the pillows and fastened back the long hair that 
was scattered loosely over the‘m. 

A foot upon the stairs interrupted her, for Bess started up 
again and became restless at the sound ; it was the doctor, 
and Berkely, who accompanied him to the upper hall, re- 
mained there, while the physician entered the sick girl’s 
room. Miss Waters closed the door, and he waited a long 
time before it reopened ; pacing silently up and down on the 
soft carpet, the terrible stillness of the house, lately so full of 
life and merriment, sank heavily and ominously upon his 
heart. Mrs. Morrison’s door was slightly ajar, and her regu- 
lar breathing told that, wearied and exhausted, she was 
sleeping at last. “ What a change,” thought Berkely, “ aiid 


176 


THE MOERTSONS. 


yet it has been tending- to this for months. God only knows 
what the end will be !^’ The death of the merchant in New 
York did not come into his mind as part of tlie present trou 
ble ; for Larry or his wife he had but little sympathy, and 
the young ladies^ absence, he looked upon as anything but a 
deprivation; they had none of the qualities that seemed to 
him necessary in a nurse, and their presence might be a 
drawback to the quiet so essential to Bess’s treatment. 

At last the door opened, and Dr. Windell stood in the hall 
looking into the crown of his hat, and saying a few parting 
words of directions to Miss Waters. Berkely joined him, 
and, in a voice he strove to control, begged to know if there 
were any change in Bess’s case since the night before. 

“ Who is that lady — a relative ?” asked the doctor, by way 
of reply, as he slowly descended the stairs. Miss Waters had 
reentered the room and closed the door, so Berkely, glancing } 
backwards to see that she was not in hearing, said : 

“ No ; she is a connection of young Mrs. Morrison’s, and 
almost a stranger ; but I . thought she would be a good nurse, 
and my poor aunt was entirely broken down.” 

“ You’re right ; she’s a capital person, and can do as much 
for the poor girl as I can. Is there any change, did you say ?” 
he added, coming at last to the point. “No, there is no change 
-^at least, none that is for the better.” 

“ And you think Miss Saunders’ life in danger ?” asked 
Berkely, breathlessly. 

“ Fevers of this kind are always dangerous,” said the doctor, 
sententiously ; “ but Miss Saunders has a strong constitution, 
and a good nurse, as I said before.” 

“ When will there be a crisis ? There is a crisis to every 
fever, is there not, doctor ?” 

“I hope I shall be able to give a ^.^'r■e!■ r.c"!:ii!:t <!f v./ur 
cousin this day week,” said the doctor, puiimg on ins gloves ; and 
nodding good morning, he ran down the steps and got into his 
close little carriage, that rolled noiselessly away through the snow. 

His aunt met Berkely on the stairs with a shawl around her 
She had awoke in nervous alarm, and now asked : 


177 


L aery’s view of property. 

“It vvns the doctor, was it not ? I heard liis voice, though 
I couldn’t make out what he said. What does he think of 
her ?” 

“ He can scarcely tell what to say yet, but hopes that the 
fever will not last long. This day week he trusts will bring all 
right.” 

“ This day week !” echoed his aunt. “ The Lord above only 
knows what may be this day week.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Larry’s view of property. 

A STRANGE, dreary life fell upon the household of Burleigh 
Place. Ellen O’Toole and Jenny Brackett enjoyed the sway 
below stairs, worked a little, and divided the rest of the time be- 
tween lamentations and speculations about the family afflictions, 
occasionally produced a meal that was scarcely tasted, and quar- 
relled ceaselessly on all points, having no higher court of appeals 
to settle the question at issue between them. 

Mrs, Morrison, looking a ghost of her former plump, good- 
humored self, wandered from room to room of the darkened 
second floor, and occasionally took a cup of tea from the hand 
of the solicitous Ellen, but seldom went down to the dining- 
room. Berkely and TJncle Terry went out daily, but with the 
former the interests or demands of his new business were without 
power to hold him long from the closed and gloomy house he 
had left, to which he would hurry back again, hoping for some 
blessed change, yet finding none. The old man, on the contrary, 
kept away from home, and when there, took his pipe and book 
comfort in his sunny garret, beside his old-fashioned wood stove. 

Charlotte Waters flourished in her new sphere as if it had 
been her home since childhood, and the doctor came in morning 
and evening. 


178 


THE MORRISONS. 


Going down stairs, one morning, Berkely found him waiting 
him in the lower hall, drawing on his gloves leisurely, and 
glancing upward at Berkely as he descended. 

“ Where are the young ladies of the family staying he 
asked, in his usual abrupt way. 

“ Their brother’s wife has been very much broken down by 
the death of her father,” began Berkely, in explanation of their 
absence, but the physician interrupted him, 

“You can send for them at once, for Miss Saunders will soon 
be able to take her place as housekeeper, and make things com- 
fortable again.” 

Berkely caught the doctor’s hand in his, and had half wrung 
it off before he suddenly checked his impetuous delight, and in a 
voice that trembled, despite every effort he made to control it, 
heartily thanked the doctor for the blessed news. 

“ And she is truly getting better — is she very weak yet ?” 

The doctor nodded. 

“ Weak enough, and too weak to have a scene with your 
aunt, so it will be better to keep her room quiet for a day or two.” 

Without further parley he departed, leaving Berkely Morri- 
son in a state of exhilaration he could not account for. He 
turned to go up stairs to see his aunt, but trembled so violently, 
with the delight of a terrible cloud breaking away and the dark- 
ness of despair yielding to hope in his soul, that he was hiin to 
take refuge in the shadowy parlor, and wander up and down 
until he could regain his composure. His aunt came down stairs 
and passed into the dining-room on one of her melancholy inspec- 
tions of the kitchen chimney, that she had all<her life been fully 
persuaded would have taken fire but for- this precaution. Berkely 
hastened after her, studying a form of words through which to 
convey Bess’s former danger and her now promising state, as he 
went along. 

Slic was standing with her hand on the latch of the kitchen 
dour, and turned round at the sound of his steps. 

“ What is it ?” she cried, faintly, for her nerves had been 
very much shaken of late. “ Is anything wrong, dear ?” 

“ 0 no,’ aunt ; it’s all right,” he cried, without the power of 


larky’s view of property. 179 

stifling his emotions. “ Bess is going to be well again ; the 
danger’s all past, and there’s nothing to fear now.” 

Mrs. Morrison sunk into a chair at her side, and covered her 
face with her hands. 

“ God be thanked,” she murmured, devoutly* “ Oh, Berkely 
dear, I knew all along that she was worse than you tried to 
make me think. It’s been a sore trial to me, for she’s my 
strength and hope.” 

Berkely saw the flutter of Miss Waters’ dress coming down 
stairs, and taking his aunt’s hand in his, said, earnestly ; 

“ Bemember what we owe this woman ; Dr. Winded himself 
declares that her care has been invaluable, and how little claim 
we have upon her for all she has done.” 

Charlotte Waters had not spent nine days in a sick-room 
without taking the impression on her face of something she had 
felt and endured ; she was very pale, and as much subdued as it 
was possible for so keen and buoyant a face as hers to become ; 
but now there was a pleasant beam in her eye, and a conscious- 
ness of the good news that had gladdened the household, in every 
glance. 

“ Well, good people,” she began, “ I hope you feel as happy 
as I do.” 

Mrs. Morrison arose and cast herself upon her breast. 

“ The Lord reward you as you deserve ; and I can ask no 
more for you,” she said, amid a shower of tears. 

Whereupon the volunteer nurse, offering no disclaimer, sate 
down and joined her in a hearty cry. 

Berkely left them thus sensibly employed, and went out to 
give a look at the progress of things in Myer’s Lane with a 
lightened heart, and a much higher idea of the value of such 
mundane employments* than he had had for weeks past. Fear 
and despair were no longer guests in Burleigh Place, but quiet 
and watching were still the reigning powers. The young ladies 
had not taken advantage of the doctor’s permission for them to 
return, but Kelly wrote daily to Berkely, begging bulletins of 
Ih'ss’s state, and giving in return but sad accounts of Juliet’s 
fortitude. 


12 


180 


THE MOIiKlSONS. 


“ It is dreadfully dull here,” she admitted, “and poor Juliet 
seems to take but little notice of our presence ; but Larry, who 
hates all such horrors as funerals and visits of condolence, actu- 
ally demands our stay, to keep him in his senses, he says, in such 
an undertaker’s sliop as the drawing-room has become with crape 
and closed blinds.” ’ 

Katie’s correspondence was limited — one letter of proper re- 
port to her mother, and two prettily worded epistles to Miss 
Waters, thanking her sweetly for her undeserved devotion to the 
house of Morrison, being in all respects models of style and com- 
position. It happened that Mr. Joe Waters lingered in New 
York long after his brother was buried, and as his more brief 
and less studied letters showed, was in a quandary about his bro- 
ther’s affairs — there being no will, and any amount of out- 
standing business. 

Charlotte mentioned the receipt of these epistles to Berkely, 
but did not enlarge on their contents beyond a sigh or a shake 
of the head over John’s shortsightedness, and that poor helpless 
child of his. 

One morning, when Bess was so strong as to be able to sit up 
among pillows, the family resumed their old order of meals, and 
all assembled at breakfast. 

“ Another week, and I hope it will be home once more,” said 
Mrs. Morrison, looking round joyfully. “ Bess will be brought 
down, and the girls will be back from New York, and” 

“ And I shall return to my place,” said Charlotte Waters. 

“ Ah well, it’s changes, you know, nothing but changes in life, 
though mine have been pleasant ones mostly, so I don’t com- 
plain.” 

As she spoke, Jenny put a letter in her hand, and glancing at 
its address, she said : 

“ From Joe ; well, I expected him, rather than a letter I’ll 
read it, with your permission.” 

“ Berkely, when did you write to Nell ?” asked his aunt. “ 1 
think Larry should consider that we too have had our troubles, 
and let the girls come home again. It’s four weeks to-night J 
since they started.” ^ 


larky’s view of property. 


181 


“ Joe will be home to-iiiglit,” said Ids sister. “ Mr. Morrison 
will be able to attend to the business, it seems. There are no 
claims against the property from relatives, and he has collected 
the papers of the firm, and all that.” 

She spoke in a hesitating, annoyed sort of to%e, and leant her 
head upon her hand thoughtfully awhile. Then she re-read the 
letter, and after a moment’s cogitation, folded it and put it in 
her pocket. Her breakfast, after that, lay neglected on her plate, 
and she swallowed her coffee without a word. 

On his way out for the morning, Berkely encountered her in 
the lower hall. 

“ Come in here a moment,” she said, opening the parlor door ; 
and he followed her, rather wondering at the gravity of her face 
and manner. 

“ I haven’t got a particle of policy about me, Mr. Morrison, so 
I must come to the point without introduction. Is your cousin 
Lawrence a good, true man ?” 

“ I scarcely understand your use of the terms,” began Berkely, 
rather confused by the sudden catechism. “ Do you mean” 

“ I humbly trust I may be mistaken,” she went on, without 
noticing his reluctance ; “ but I acknowledge that I measured 
his as a selfish, shallow nature, and pitied our poor little girl in 
being won by that dangerous face of his.” 

Still Berkely paused, and irresolutely studied the stitching of 
his glove, with a flushed and changing face. 

In his heart of hearts he despised Larry Morrison, and being 
conscious of one great motive of bitterness against him, his large 
soul revolted at the idea of sitting in judgment on the man who 
had once been loved by Bess Saunders, and who had shamefully 
deceived her. 

“ There,” be said at last, giving up the effort to speak, ad- 
visedly, “ I needn’t attempt to speak dispassionately, and I have 
no right to speak at all, of Lawrence Morrison. T don’t like 
the man, Miss Waters, and you’re too generous, I know, to re- 
quire me to condemn him.” 

“ He’s your cousin, Mr. Morrison, and his wife is my dead bro- 
ther’s child. We are both interested, and may speak freely, I 


182 


TIIF. MORFTSOXS. 


think ; and T say, it was a sad day for lier wlicn they mot. 1 
hope to Heaven I am wrong in feeling tliis as I do.” 

. “ Has anything been done or snid by him to make you think 
so ?” asked Berkely, slowly." ^ 

Charlotte took the letter from her pocket and rubbed her nose 
irascibly with it. 

“You know John Waters died intestate, with a large busi- 
ness, into which he had just taken Lawrence as partner, owing 
to this matrimonial connection. Yonr cousin had been a capital 
book-keeper, but possessed no practical knowledge of the trade, 
and my brother Joe, whose business is of the same order, offered 
to call in the accounts and see that everytliing was arranged, as 
the nearest relative of the orphan, and to prevent its going into 
litigation through some inadvertence ; but Lawrence, after se- 
curing himself from every family claim, by getting Joe to write 
up the genealogy, and go here and there inquiring into the 
affair, coolly tells him that there is so little to arrange that there 
is no need to trouble him, and pooh-poohs the idea of there be- 
ing any considerable property to be secured to Juliet in her own 
name. Juliet has nothing to say, but to glance timidly at her 
lord, when the matter is mentioned to her ; and so Joe, who is 
the last man to insist on a right, however keenly he feels it, has 
nothing for it but to come home, after being of infinite service to 
his amiable nephew in the way of silencing any outside inter- 
ference with that young gentleman's plans.” 

“ Mrs. Morrison, then, trusts implicitly to his decisions ?” 
asked Berkely, reflecting her doubts in his own face. 

“ Mrs. Morrison does not assert herself, and has been too long 
used to tenderness to suspect double-dealing.” 

“ Are you going to do anything in the matter, or is there any- 
thing you can do ?” asked Berkely, after a pause. 

“ I can go to New York and have a talk with this cousin of 
yours, and I can, and inevitably will, make him my enemy by ' 
that conversation, and cut off all hope of association or sym- 
pathy with my brother’s child in her hour of need. Her hour j 
of need, Mr. Morrison, I say, for as we both live and stand here, : 
that time will come to her as truly as she lives to meet it.” H 


larky’s view of property. 183 

“ So you think it wiser to remain quiescent, and trust to time 
to show you what is for the best V’ 

“ Yes, if you give that name to Joe ; I’m going to wait for 
him, and that pretty bright little cousin of yours — not the hand- 
some Madonna one, you understand — and that is why I trouble 
you now, Mr. Morrison. Am I right in thinking she and her 
mother carry the family heart between them 

“ The family heart repeated Bcrkely, rather confused at 
this unceremonious dealing with the sentiments of his relatives. 

“ The feeling, you know,” continued Miss Waters, imper- 
turbably ; “ I don’t accuse that fine looking dragon, Lawrence, 
of any such weakness, and the elder sister is too placid ; Nelly is 
not so handsome, but she’s truer, or at least it seems so to me ; 
am I right ?” 

“ I like my cousin Nell best,” said Berkely ; “ and so it’s only 
natural that I should agree with you.” 

“ She’s an observer, and will be able to tell me something I 
may want to know. Is she suspicious ?” 

“ No ; she’s a dear frank girl, and it would be wrong to de- 
ceive her ; the more so, as it is her brother’s faults you wish her 
to discover.” 

“ I want her to help me in protecting her poor sistcr-in-law 
against the thoughtless waste of her brother, who in his few 
weeks’ adminstration of his father-in-law’’’s business, has discovered 
the abilities of a luxurious spendthrift.” 

Berkely considered awhile, and then brightened up a little : 

“ That homestead, her father’s wedding gift, is in her her own 
name, I have heard ; it must be a valuable property, and if the 
worst fears for her future be realized, she has that dependeuce.” 

“ True,” said Charlotte, slowly, “ that’s something ; but it’s a 
mere nothing, to the work of twenty long years that will be sown 
broadcast among this young gentleman’s wild oats ” 

“ You’re looking at the dark side now,” said Berkely, cheer- 
fully ; “ let us hope all these are groundless fears, and that Larry 
will astonish us all by his energy and discretion.” 

Chavlotte coughed doubtfully, but said no more, and Berkely 
held out his hand. 


THE M0KRIS0N8. 


1S4 


“ Thank you for your confidence, and be assured if there is 
anything I can do in an honorable, manly way, I shall be as 
ready as you could wish.” Saying this, he went out, and Miss 
Waters took to jfacing the room awhile, preparatory to going 
to her patient. ■ 


CHAPTER XX. 

Nell’s sentiments. 

It was in the warm, bright days that sometimes glance like 
sunl)cams among tlie grey clouds of February, that the Morri- 
sojis gathered together a full family circle once more. Charlotte 
Waters, no longer resident attendant, for she had been home for 
nearly a fortnight, was making one of her regular visits, and 
^stop{)ing for tea. The windows were bright with the glancing 
winter’s sun, the shutters were opened, and the old cheerful air 
seemed come again to the house of Morrison. 

Katie and NeHie, in their character of consolers, had contrived 
to invest themselves with an entirely new wardrobe, in which a 
keen observer might detect a delicate shade of mourning, pro- 
portionate to the grief they might be supposed to feel for the 
loss of a man whose living face they had never seen. But, as 
Katie said, “It was proper under the circumstances, and Larry 
had behaved very generously ; besides, it was decidedly becom- 
ing to her style, and Nelly had made no objections.” 

This explanation was demanded by the blankness of their 
matter-of-fact mother’s countenance when her daughters’ gar- 
ments first met her eye. 

“ What’s come over ye, that you’ve took to the black 
clotlies?” she asked, to her elder daughter!s intense annoy- 
ance ; and despite all the light thrown upon it by Katie’s phi- 
losophy, she continued to marvel at the circumstance for many 
a day. 

In an easy-chair by the fire sat - Bess, now fully recovered, ao 


Nell’s sentiments. 185 

cording to )ier own account, but looking sadly changed since the 
night of the tableaux party. Her wadded gown hung loosely 
round her ^shrunken form, and the glory of her head was de- 
parted ; a close cap took the place of the abundant hair that 
had so adorned it, making her white face and gleaming eyes al- 
most painfully unrelieved and peculiar looking. Her manner i 
was subdued and listless, her whole system had received a terri- 
ble shock in the long illness that had so nearly proved fatal. 
U ncle Terry sate near her, with a fine sense of enjoyment in the 
changed state of things, expressed in his wrinkled old face. 
Uncle Terry was really getting old, and these trying times had 
told on him ; comfort was an essential now to his existence, and 
its interruption and the weary days of suspense had had their 
effect in making the lines deeper that seamed and plowed his 
aged fiice. 

Miss Waters was now deeply draped in black for the loss of 
her brother ; for the month she had remained in Burleigh Place 
she had made no change in her attire, but with that odd inde- 
pendence that distinguished her, compelled the forms of society 
to await her pleasure. As soon as Bess was fully recovered, and 
could be left to her aunt^s care, she went as abruptly as she 
came, and when she next appeared, it was in sweeping weeds, 
that in outward show did honor to her brother’s memory'. 

“ One thing really distresses me, dear Miss Waters,” said Bess, 
summing up her case in answer to her friend’s inquiries : “ I am 
positively so lazy, that it is painful for me to hold a bit of work 
in my hand, and as to stirring around as I used to, it seems as if 
I never should be able to do so again.” 

“ But look at her,” said Nelly, sadly ; “ doesn’t it seem fearful 
that Heaven should claim such a sacrifice as a woman’s hair ?” 

Katie answered her sister’s appeal by declaring that it wasn’t 
the hair, but the cap that made Bess hideous. 

“ No one would believe it, that ever had seen her before,” she 
said. “ She used to be by fiir the most artistic person I ever 
saw, about such things, and I should have named her as admira- 
bly calculated by taste to remedy such a blow ; but look at her 
now.” 


186 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ No, no,” said Bess, “ don’t look at me ; I am a perfect fool, 
and it tries me to be stared at.” 

“ I should think it might by four such critical eyes as your 
cousins’ ; but there’s this advantage about a shaved head, it 
don’t remain bare long,” said Charlotte Waters, coming to the 
rescue. 

“ That’s true,” said Katie, amiably, “ I never thought of that ; 
but then I never knew any one who had an experience in that 
way.” 

“ There was Samson, you know,” suggested Nell ; “ or was it 
his eyes that he lost ?” 

“ Well, Nellie,” said her mother severely, “ it would become 
you to take a Bible in your hand ; and indeed, I’m ashamed of 
your ignorance, this day.” 

“ I’m not ignorant, mother, for I’m positive it was either one 
thing or another. Here’s Cousin Berkely coming up the steps, 
and I’ll appeal to him.” 

“ Weil, indeed, I shall feel disgraced if you do, Nellie,” said 
her indignant parent. “ His father was a God-fearing man, and 
brouglit his son up to study the Scriptures, as I have tried to 
do wiili mine ; but they have done me little credit. I’m sorry 
to say.” 

“ How was it about Samson, Bess ?” whispered Nellie, as 
Berkely entered the parlor and came up to the invalid’s chair. 

“ Much better and stronger,” answered Bess, cheerfully, in 
answer to his inquiries ; and as he turned toward Miss Waters, 
she said : “ Delilah cut off his hair, and the Philistines put out 
his eyes after they took him prisoner.” 

“ Now,” cried Nell, triumphantly, “ I knew I was right ; and 
here was mother getting up quite a lament over my degenerate 
ignorance.” 

“ Y"ou said you didn’t know which of the afflictions befell him, 
when it was both ; so, really, I don’t see that you have any rea- 
son to rejoice,” said Katie. 

“ I positively don’t think one feels encouraged in piety, any- 
how,” said Nell, despondingly : “ for when I was in New 
York, I read nothing but religions works aloud to Juliet, and 


Nell’s sentiments. 187 

here I am accused of disgracing my training almost as soon as I 
get h.ome.” 

“ Did the poor child seem resigned at all ?” asked Miss Wa- 
ters, her face expressing her interest in her subject. “ You 
know that her father was all in all to h^t.for years, and marriage 
is but a new tie in comparison.^’ 

Nell’s bright face grew serious, as she stopped to consider a 
moment before speaking. 

“ I can scarcely say that she is,” she began, when Katie in- 
terrupted her. 

“ Poor Juliet is not strong, and her physical strength suffered 
as well as her mind in the fright of the announcement. Larry 
proposes* traveling in a month or two, which will be all she 
needs, I think.” 

Miss Waters sighed and sank back in her chair, as Katie, 
giving her sister a slight but meaning glance, went up to get 
some engravings with which she had promised to charm Uncle - 
Terry. 

“ It’s a completely illustrated ‘ Tam O’Shanter,’ Bess,” said 
the old man, “ and will be a treat to you too. I must go up 
and get my glasses, that I may be able to see them clearly.” 

Mrs. Morrison rose. “ I’ll have to give Ellen O’Toole a look. . 
about tea. Is there anything you would fancy, Bess, darling ?” 
she asked. 

“ Another slice of toast, aunt, please,” said Bess, who, finding 
her aunt had a fancy for browning bread, was fast becoming a 
martyr to that dish. 

Miss Waters glanced from Nell to Bess, and from Bess to 
Berkely, as the door closed. 

“ Do you tliink Juliet is happy, Nelly ?” she asked, bluntly. 

As bluntly Nelly answered her : 

“ No ; and I am very sorry for it. Larry has been accustome 
to be. entertained by women of high spirits, and Juliet, on the 
contrary, looks to him for every glimpse of life that animates 
her ; so he is bored, and she dissatisfied — and that is the trouble, 

I think.” 


188 


THE MOERISONS. 


“ It^s early clays with them to begin to weary of each other,” 
said Charlotte, bitterly. 

“ Don’t misunderstand me ; I don’t say they are wearied of 
each other, but I have never known anything of married life, 
except from books, and they don’t seem to be like that sort of 
thing. I can’t explain it, but it isn’t agreeable at all.” 

Berkely looked out of the window, and Bess kept her eyes re- 
solutely fixed on the floor. Charlotte Waters and Nell had the 
conversation all to themselves. 

“ So you think they are both in fault, Nelly. Can you see 
any hope of time correcting Juliet’s mind, or will the breach 
wear wider ?” 

Nelly fidgeted a little. 

“ Why it isn’t an agreeable thing to find fault with one’s bro- 
ther, and Larry is a fine fellow, and all that ; but I don’t look 
on death and trouble as likely to bring out his best qualities ; he 
isn’t sympathetic or likely to help one in bearing burdens ; he ra- 
ther needs keeping up himself, if you can understand.” 

“ Then poor Juliet has met this blow single-handed,” said her 
aunt, with an expression that was not flattering to the unfolding 
character of her nephew. Nelly was looking at a little fire- 
screen she held in her hand, and thus employed, pursued the 
subject : 

“ Yes ; and a very, very sad sight it was to see her bowed to 
the earth by it ; I had no idea of her nature till then. She 
seemed so smooth and smiling all the time she was here, I could 
fijrin no idea of the almost volcanic passion of grief or despair she 
could fall into ; it was terrible.” 

“ Poor girl, poor girl 1” muttered Miss Waters to herself. 

Berkely looked over at Nell with an interest and admiration 
he thought her light nature incapable of exciting. She still 
twirled the screen round, and looked sadly at its gay figures, as 
if tracing the saddened story of the young bride. Katie re- 
turned with the pictures and Uncle Terry, and the next moment 
the tea-bell summoned them to leave the discussion of “ Tam 
O’Shanter” till after supper. 


Nell’s sentiments. 


189 


It had become so difficult a matter to produce a meal in the 
house of Morrison, that the present occasion found Mrs. Morri- 
son, Ellen O’Toole, and Jenny Brackett all at daggers drawn — 
on tlie subject of stewed oysters. As Bess arose to go into the 
dining-room, Berkely offered his arm, which she was fain to 
accept in her altered, trembling state. When she reached the 
table, Ellen rushed to draw out a chair for her, and lodged a 
complaint in her ear in a loud whisper, meantime. 

“ Och, Miss, will ye iver be able to look to things, an’ jist 
save us all from ruin I Yer aunt has nearly druv the wit out ov 
me this day, wid sthewing the oysters in milk that’s on the 
turn.” 

“ Ellen,” cried Mrs. Morrison, wrathfully, “ walk away into 
your kitchen, and don’t fash Miss Saunders with your nonsense.” 

But after she had gone out of hearing, she imparted to the com- 
pany, with many sighs, that “ she was just a trying heart-break, 
and was wearing the flesh off her bones.” 

“ Never mind, aunt. I’ll soon be able to begin again, and let 
you have a rest after your long, long task.” 

“ Oh, if you only were, dear, it would be a glad day for us 
all, for what with Jenny and Ellen and the butcher, I believe I 
am three shades greyer than I was before Christmas.” 

“ Pray don’t talk of beginning house-keeping yet, Bess,” said 
' Charlotte Waters, “ because I came here to ask a favor, aud I 
really will not be put down.” 

“ Well, then. Miss Waters, if there’s any one who should have 
their say, it’s yourself,” said Mrs. Morrison. “ We’d have had 
neither house nor house-keeper, if it hadn’t been for your devo- 
tion, and the mercy of heaven together.” 

“ This is what I want to say ; I am living alone in that great 
house of ours, for my brother J oe is really nobody in his busy 
time, which is three-fonrths of the year, and I want Miss Eliza- ^ 

both Saunders to come aud stay a fortnight with me, and make 
up her caps.” 

The whole family looked blankly at one another, and then 
blankly at Miss Waters. 

“ Why, Charlotte, how can yon ?” cried Katie. “ We’ve but 


r 


190 


THE MORRISONS. 


lust got back, and Bess is having a levee of inquirers after her 
health every day, and mother would go distracted without her, 
and ” 

“ And there’s a great deal to be done when she’s able to do 
it,” put in Uncle Terry; “ but until she is, it will be well for her 
to have a change. Go, Bess dear, it will do you good.” 

“ Yes,” said Bess, slowly; “ I’m very much obliged to you 
for the true kindness that prompts you to have a stupid invalid 
on your hands, and I’ll go with real pleasure.” 

Berkely glanced approvingly at her as she said this. 

“ You are right,” he said ; “ it will be the best thing for us 
all ; we shall have you back so much brighter for the chajige, 
and aunt will be beguiled into going out every day for the pur- 
pose of seeing you.” 

“ x\nd I’ll keep house,” said Nelly, determinedly. 

“ Heaven preserve us, Peggy, do you hear that ?” cried Uncle 
Terry, brightening up at the sound of Nell’s positive tone. 
“ She’ll keep house, and we’ll see a flock of white crows.” 

“ Now that’s shameful, but I don’t mind it,” said Nelly,. plea- 
santly ; “ for I’m convinced that I need to begin some time, the 
sooner the better. And to prove my sincerity, I’m going to 
make out a little list of directions at Bess’s dictation this very 
evening.” 

And although they laughed heartily at the industrious vein so 
newly developed in the avowed enemy to exertion, she held to 
her resolution, and brought a little blank-book duly headed, 
“ Housekeeper’s Notes,” to take directions from Bess on the 
subject. 

Half laughing as she did so, Bess imparted to her the secrets 
of kitchen economy, and Nelly, not tired with this, went so far 
as to offer to assist in the packing of her dresses for the visit to 
^liss Waters. 

‘‘ Which reminds me,” said Charlotte, “ that I must take 
flight, and prepare Joe for the pleasure. You’ll not expect to 
be entertained in our dull household as you are happy enough to 
have the ability to be here. Miss Saunders. You know, my 
brother, when he is most charmed with people, has an appear- 


Nell’s sente.tknts. , 191 

mice of being tlioroiiglily friglitened, wuicli is rather ancom- 
fortable.” 

“ Wlij, how can you say so, Charlotte,” cried Katie, in a tone 
of gentle dissent. “ I’m sure we have always found him exceed- 
ingly liappy in his character as host.” 

“ 111 tell him you said so, which will make him perfectly help- 
less with delight,” said Charlotte, nodding knowingly as she tied 
on her bonnet. “ And now, Mr. Berkely Morrison, I’ll trouble 
you to put on your hat and cloak, and give me your arm and 
company to West Park.” 

An hour later, Bess was lying on the lounge in her own room, 
while Nelly folded and laid her “ things ” in a small trunk at her 
side, and talked merrily to her about the oddness of going up to 
West Park to pay her a visit. 

“ And it will be capital fun to watch Katie pursue her court- 
ship, too, won’t it, Bess ?” she concluded. 

“ Oh, Nelly,” said Bess, sitting upright, and leaning forward 
earnestly, “ do you think that Katy really cares for him ?” 

Nelly turned round with a lace jacket in her hands, and slowly 
smoothed out the frills with her fingers as she spoke. 

“ That isn’t the word exactly, Bess ; she cares for the estab- 
lishment up at W est Park, for the pictures, the library, the sil- 
ver, and the etceteras ; but for Mr. Waters, the personater of 
Conrad, she has an unmitigated contempt.” 

“ I cannot see how she can separate the possessor from his 
possessions,” said Bess, falling back wearily. “ Isn’t it very odd, 
Nelly ?” 

“ It would be odd to you, Bess,” said Nelly, gravely pausing 
a while in her occupation, “ because you are so downright in your 
honesty, but don’t fear for Katie, or pity Charlotte’s ‘Joe.’ lie 
will be very hapjiy and proud, and all that ; Katie will make 
him believe it has been the object of his life to win her, and he’ll 
feel quite triumphant when she brings him to the point.” 

“ Then she is to be pitied if she does not love him,” said Bess ; 
“ nothing can repay her for that.” 

“ Oh, but she won’t need love, you know ; she’ll do without 
that ; it’s sort of nonsense, Bess, after all. But this is in conli- 


192 


THE MORRI80X6. 


deuce ; mother couldn’t uuderstnnd this new style of things ; 
she’s true to the old order, and would have her venerable hair on 
end at the thought.” 

Bess returned her look, and answered listlessly : 

“ Yes ; that’s true — that’s true.” 

“And here you are all complete, and so good-night and God 
bless you, Bess, and don’t worry about things here, for you’ll see 
a good deal of Kate and mother ; and I’ll keep Uncle Terry for 
company and advice.” 

Kelly closed the bureau drawers, and gathered up the loose 
articles and put them away. Then she stooped and kissed her 
cousin, and took her bright cheery face away out of the door. 
Before she closed it, however, she thrust it in again, laughing. 

“ What disposition shall I make of Berkely, Bess ?” she ask- 
ed. “ 0, Bess, Bess, there’s but one thought there I Devotion 
C^nough for one of Froissart’s heroes or Foque’s Knights,” and, 
without waiting for a reply, she laughed again and hurried away. 


When Kelly entered their joint apartment, she found her sister 
seated before the toilet glass, combing out her long beautiful hair. 

“ Where have you been stopping, Kell ?” she said, pettishly. 
“ What is the matter with you and Bess ? I declare, it’s enough 
to startle an unexplosive person like me to find people who so 
suddenly make an irruption of friendship.” 

“ I like Bess,” said Kelly, shortly. 

“ Really,” said Katie, laughing, “ one would scarcely suspect 
you of such a feeling for your own cousin.” 

“ And I’m grateful to her, though I don’t think I have depth 
enough to measure her nature,” continued Kelly, thoughtfully. 

“ Pshaw I” interrupted Katie, impatiently ; “ let mother prose 
away in that vein, Kell. I’m heartily bored with hearing it.” 

“ Katie,” said Kelly, coming close to the table, and leaning 
over it so as to observe the reflection of her sister’s face in the 
glass, “ you know how Bess loves her jewels ? well, she has sold 
them I saw the receipt ; it fell from her pocket when sho was 
packing up for us to go to Kew York ; and I read it before I 
could understand its meaning.” 


Katie’s courtship. 


193 


“ What did she do that for ?” asked Katie, dropping her brush 
and gazing incredulously in her sister's face. 

“ I should not like to be the one to ask her,” said Kell ; “ but 
it was not for herself ; she has positively denied herself every- 
thing in the way of dress this winter. Where did all the week’s 
elegance come from, when Larry was here ? He remarked it 
himself, you know ; and the fittings up and furniture. I tell you, 
Katie, she's a noble girl, and we owe her everything." 

“ I, for one, shall be heartily glad to shake off the debt, fan- 
cied or real,” returned Katie. “ She has fine points, no doubt, 
but she's not properly balanced, and gives one a most uncom- 
fortable feeling of uncertainty as to what she'll do next, some- 
times. Heigh-ho I When I'm settled in my own way. I'll be 
able to appreciate her, from a distance, better, no doubt, than I 
do now.” 

“ Sit down here and do your hair, for it's getting late.” 


CHAPTER XXL 
Katie's courtship. 

Bess went to the Waters' next day, and, after she was gone, 
Mrs. Morrison, although she consented to her departure, gave 
herself up to despair, and the house to destruction. 

“ There she goes, Berkely,” she said, as the family returned to 
the dining-room, “ and if there's a whole thing left in the place 
when she comes back, it is more than I look for. Kell there, 
knows no more about keeping things in order than the child un- 
born ; and I know there'll be sad doings with Ellen and Jenny 
when she guides the helm.” 

To prove her mother a false prophet, poor Kelly, to do her 
justice, left no effort untried, and, had it not been for a baleful 
desire to experiment that possessed lier, would have proved tol- 
erably successful. This same faculty, besides being of a wasteful 


194 


THE MOERTSONS. 


nature, filled the lioiise with a smell of burnt cake, aiid often ren- 
dered the family dinner desertless ; but, as Nelly wore a large 
white linen apron constantly, and had a burn on one wrist and a 
cut in the thumb, Katie looked on her as a miracle of housewife- 
ly endurance and skill. 

Katie allowed one day to pass before she went up to West 
Park to ask after her cousin, but, on the second, she appeared 
in full dress before her mother, and avowed her intention of call- 
ing there. 

“ Well, now, but I’m glad of that, Katie,” cried her mother, 
approvingly ; “ it’s just what I would have asked you to do my- 
self, and I’m happy that you thought of it.” 

“ Yes,” said Katie ; “ and so I think as Nelly is busy, I had 
best go alone, and give poor Bess your messages ; she’ll be sure 
to fee! home-sick, if I don’t.” 

Commending this resolution of her daughter’s most highly, 
M rs. Morrison enjoined upon her to tell Bess so much that it 
would have taken more than a half dozen visits to obey her in- 
junctions in a proper manner. Katie listened, or appeared to 
listen, demurely smoothing down meantime, as she did so, the 
folds of her dress, and arranging her mantle becomingly through 
the aid of her mother’s glass. 

“ And be sure that you ask Miss Waters about her appetite,” 
she enjoined, in conclusion, “ for you see, unless a body eats, a 
body can’t hope to gain strength.” 


The house in West Park was still closed and gloomy looking 
outside, but nothing could be brighter and richer than the cheer- 
ful luxury of the library, where, in a pile of cushions, Katie 
found her cousin lying, not looking much the better for her 
change. 

Bess held an open book in her weary hand, and Charlotte 
was busy sewing : both laid aside their occupation and gladly 
welcomed her. 

“ And how is aunt ?” cried Bess, her face flushing with 
})leasure. “ It really seems as if I had been absent for months 
instead of a day and a half.” 


kattk’s courtship. 


195 


Mother will come up to-morrow, and she hopes to see yon 
looking quite robust,” unswered Katie, tlius condensing into so 
many words her mother’s dozen chapters of tender charges and 
inquiries. “ Bess has no excuse for remaining an invalid in this 
delightfvilly invigorating atmosphere. Why can’t we have an 
open hearth and a roaring wood fire ? — those tall Gothic and- 
irons look quite baronial.” 

“ That’s Joe’s device, Katie,” said Charlotte ; “ he is an 
adorer of La Motte Fouque, and though anything but a knightly 
figure himself, is almost as chivalric as Don Quixote.” 

“ How charming to find such qualities in tliis dull, work-day 
world, in which one would think all the noble sentiments ex- 
tinct !” exclaimed Katie, with enthusiasm. 

Charlotte laughed heartily. “ Why, to tell you the truth,” 
she said, “I look upon Joe’s romance as the funniest thing in 
life, because I can’t tell which he’s most interested in, the rise 
and fall of domestic goods or the orders of knighthood and eti- 
quette of tournaments.” 

“ Well, I must confess to admiring the nature that, despite 
the ardor and cares of business, retains the poetry of the heart 
untouched by the prices current. Our Cousin Bcrkely, thougli 
one of the finest fellows living, is lamentably common-place. I 
think it must have been his training in that hard school abroad. 
His father died before he was able to assume the responsibility 
of head of the firm, and yet he had to do it or lose everything. 
Poor fellow I one can’t blame him for his want of sentiment.” 

“ I’m old enough to say I love your Cousin Berkely heartily,” 
said Charlotte, with ardor. “ He’s eminently sensible and 
thoughtful about others, if that’s being prosy. You know I can 
speak from facts, for he and I were allies for nearly six weeks, 
and I never desire a more efficient one.” 

“ I have given up attempting to thank Mr. Morrison in 
words,” said Bess, with downcast eyes, and cheeks in whoso 
pallor the faint color dawned at her words ; “ but no one has 
greater reason to be conscious of another’s goodness than I of 
his.” 

“ Here’s Brother Joe,” announced Charlotte, as a heavy foot 


196 


THE MORRISONS. 


echoed on the stairs ; he will be proud to think what I term his 
absurdities are so nobly defended by his Medora. Ha, ha, ha I • 
shall I ever forget the Tupraan-like figure the dear fellow cut at 
your feet 1” 

Mr. Waters entered, and blushed scarlet with pleasure at the 
sight of his sister^s visitor. 

“ Miss Morrison,” he exclaimed ; “ charmed to see you, I’m 
sure. Hope you find Miss Saunders looking pretty well. Quite 
apropos, to see you. J ust heard from your brother ” 

“From Larry,” said Katie, with interest ; “and how is he 
and how is Juliet ?” 

Mr. Waters considered, as he searched his pockets for the 
letter. 

“ I can scarcely say whether he mentions Juliet’s name or not ; 
let me see ; ah, here it is. ‘ Orphan’s court’ — ‘ confounded fees’— ^ 
* legal extortion’ — ‘ worthless property’— oh, yes, here it is. ‘ So 
as Juliet is rehtless here, she may as well go South before the 
summer heat renders traveling intolerable. We will leave here 
in March, and if, as I hope, there be no delay in closing up the 
Southern arrangements, will pass your way, returning, in early 
May.’ ” 

“ Closing up the Southern business — what does the man 
mean ?” cried Charlotte, sharply. 

Mr. Waters gave his sister a troubled look. 

“ He’s going to close up the firm. I can’t explain it, so don’t 
ask me,” he said. 

“ Is the man demented,” began Charlotte, but remembering 
his sister’s presence, she restrained herself, and added, in a milder 
tone : “ it is such a prosperous business, and such a reliable con- 
nection.” 

Katie looked discreetly concerned, but ventured no remark. 
Bcvss scarcely seemed to hear what was being said, and after an 
awkward moment or two, their hostess rallied. 

“Put away your letter, Joe, ’’.she said, “ and be agreeable till 
tea time. Miss Morrison has just been declaring in favor of the 
days of lance and spear, so reward her sympathy with your tastes 
by showing her your illustrated ‘ Crusade.’ ” 


Katie’s courtship. 


197 


Mr. Waters obeyed with alacrity ; and pocketing the letter, 
drew towards the ladies a book rest, on which to display the 
series of fine engravings, over which his heart expanded in joy 
to the extinction even of his constitutional embarrassment. 

Katie was prevailed upon to remain to tea, by her warm- 
hearted hostess, and as Bess watched her from her sofa, half hid- 
den in the shadow of the silk-lined doors of the library, looking 
into book after book of old romance, she thought of Kelly’s 
prophecy, and felt it was in progress to be fulfilled. 

Charlotte and she talked together about Juliet’s coming back 
again so changed from her last visit, and surmised about the 
possible stay with the family before going further South. They 
had the subject all to themselves, for Mr. Waters and his com- 
panion were occupied in the realm of fancy, from which they 
only emerged at Katie’s declaration that it was late, she knew 
it was, and what a dreadful person Mr. Waters was to beguile 
her out of so many hours ; quite an enchanter, she declared. 

It was his proud privilege to blush delightedly at this assu- 
rance, and walk away with her when she had put on her cloak 
and furs, in a state of rapturous pride. 

Miss Waters, after they had departed, coughed a good deal, 
as if trying to swallow something not very palatable, sighed once 
or twice, shook her head, and finally remarked : 

‘‘ Of all the useless things under the sun, interference with a 
man’s fancies is the most useless, if you don’t mean to strengthen 
them.” 

To this, Bess offering no reply, she became a little irrascible, 
and pushed a great cat from a comfortable spot on a rug before 
the fire, as she replaced the chairs and stool that were disar- 
ranged in the evening. 

Presently good humor triumphed in her pleasant face, and she 
burst into a hearty fit of laughing. 

“ Your pretty cousin did penance to-night, Bess,” she said, 
“ for I know she looks on those old books as a lot of rubbish and 
trumpery, and was fearfully bored with them.” 

“Katie has the rare talent of being agreeable when it’s 


198 


TUE MORRISONS. 


necessary, no ma.tter how she feels. I have often envied her that 
charm, without being able to emulate her.” 

Charlotte, who seemed entirely indemnified for Katie^s designs 
on her brother by the contemplation of the trouble she was at in 
charming him, gave herself up to merriment, and went tombed in 
high good humor. 

Then Bess began to suspect, what every day beca.me surer, 
Katie^s interest in her was a cover for winning a man whose na- 
tive shyness would prevent him from ever becoming a suitor, and 
being a girl of an almost painfully keen sense of honor and cor- 
rectness, to stay longer at the Waters’ became impossible. 

“I am so strong, it seems like nursing laziness, now,” she 
said, one evening after Katie and her mother had departed under 
the care of the entranced Conrad, as Nelly called him. “ So, my 
dear friend, as I feel I am really needed there and shall be hap- 
pier when at work, I’ll return home to-morrow.” 

“ You shan’t stir until your fortnight’s up,” said Charlotte, 
flatly ; “ if you speak of it, I shall think you moped with our 
dullness.” 

But Bess did speak of it and would not be silenced. Almost 
every day of the ten she had spent in West Park, Katie had passed < 
part of it there, too, sometimes with Nelly^sometimes with Mrs. 
Morrison, but always at the hours when Mr. Whters’ business over, 
he would be at her service. Not content with sharing his pas- 
sion for knight-errantry, she had discovered his leaning towards 
bronzes, and avowed such a love for the figures in that metal, 
that he had gone so far as to take her to an exhibition and sale 
of articles of virtu, and under her direction bought so largely, 
that Charlotte was dismayed and non-plussed by the innumerable 
little black figures to be placed and disposed of over the house. 

Berkely had been in New York, and was there still ; and 

Our cousin being away, would Mr. Waters be good enough to 
do thus and so,” was another rivet in the chain. He carried let- 
ters, brought parcels, and if his own gratified face could be taken 
in evidence, never had been so happy before ; but Charlotte 
knitted her brows and shook her head, at times, and so Bess had 


f Katie’s courtship. 199 

not been able to endure the thought of aiding by her presence 
this odd style of wooing. 

Miss Waters endeavored to keep her in West Park, at least 
until the beginning of the week, but on Thursday morning, Bess 
resolutely dressed herself in walking gear and went back to 
Burlei|il Place, in the corner of the capacious family coach. 

“ I’m truly mortified at your decision, and your people will 
think I maltreated you, Bess,” said Charlotte. “ You must let 
me run up and say a word in explanation before you leave the 
carriage, or they’ll think we’re both crazy.” 

I “ They will be glad to have me back, and grateful to you for 
i making me so much stronger. My dear aunt feels how much we 
owe you as sensibly as I do,” said Bess, getting out, and run- 
ning almost briskly up the old steps, in pleasure at being home 
again, 

Jenny Brackett, in answering the bell, fell back in surprise, 
and recovering herself, gave way to the record of a flood of dis- 
asters, of which broken china, a hole in the new “ ketching oil- 
cloth,” and “ yer nice market basket stoled out of the yard,” 
were a few. This flood-tide of accidents was stemmed by Nelly 
rushing from the dining-ro^m in her great apron and flowery 
state of hands, and embracing the returned with vigor. 

“ But we didn’t expect you, and Katie’s up dressing to go up 
and see you. Why did you come so soon ?” 

“ There I told you, Bess ; they think you’re wild, and will 
blame me for your wildness. Nelly, I’ve implored her to stay 
with me in vain, as you see. She’s an obdurate creature.” 

‘‘ She’s a darling, and I am glad to get her back. Hold your 
tongue about the broken plates, and run up to mother’s room 
and tell her, Jenny,” she continued, to that officious damsel, who 
was waiting for a break in the conversation to repeat her tale 
of loss and damage. 

“ And now, having entered my protest against this desertion, 
and told my way of the story. I’ll go back with the horses, for 
Joe is going to New York, and will want to be driven to the 
depot.” 

Miss Waters had scarcely gone, when Katie came down in 


200 


THE MOKKISONS. 


full dress, and started, in positive amazement, at the sight of 
Bess. 

“ What does this mean V’ she asked, coldly ; “is anything 
wrong 

“ I was well enough to come home, and so I came,” said ^ css, 
quietly. “I did not care to burden Miss Waters and intuitere 
with her employments any longer than necessary.” 

Katie grew pale with anger, her lips trembled, and her 'eyes 
flashed. 

“ Bess Saunders, you know in your heart you left the Waters^ 
to thwart me — you know you did, and PIl remember it as long as 
I live against you I” She came close to her cousin, and shook 
her hand in her face, utterly forgetting everything but the wrath- 
ful passion of the moment. 

Bess made no reply ; she drew back a little and grew a shade 
paler, but neither spoke to nor looked at her ac'cuser. 

“ You’ve tried to poison that meddling old maid against me, 
and I have double work to do ; but I’ll do it, and be even with 
you, if it costs my life.” 

“ Katie, Katie, are you mad ? What are you saying, you 
spiteful creature I” cried Nelly, in an^agony of distress, for she 
heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs outside. 

“ I’m saying what I mean, and what I want you and her to 
remember. She has tried to ruin my chance for a good home 
because Larry slighted her. You and mother are a pair of 
moles, and don’t see what goes on about you ; but I do, and, 
demure as she is, she did her best to drive poor Juliet crazy with 
jealousy while she was here.” 

“ Katie Morrison,” screamed Nelly, “ hold your abominable 
tongue.” But Bess never spoke at all. 

“ I’ve let her take her own way,” the infuriated girl went on, 
“ and never noticed her schemes to enchant Berkely, though I 
might have blown them all to the winds if I’d tried, and here 
she deliberately and coolly turns upon me and does her best to 
ruin every hope I have.” 

'^^ “Tell her it’s not so ; do, Bess — dear Bess, for my sake,” 
urged Nelly, in tears. 


KATIE S COUKTSHIP. 


201 


** She is right,” said Bess, in a cold, unnatural voice. I did 
come home to prevent her going to Charlotte Waters with a 
pretended interest in me, and a design against her brother. I 
say design, Katie, because I think you truly dislike the man, and 
you]^ ^dre to marry him is horrible in my eyes.” 

‘^|bur eyes — your pure, innocent eyes, that envy a woman 
her rightful husband I I have shocked thee, have I ?” said the 
other, tauntingly. 

Her mother came in with an April full of delight and tears. 

“ Welcome home, darling — you’re welcome home, a thousand 
times,” she cried. 

Bess rose and kissed her, as Katie swept out of the room. 

“ Why,* what on earth ails you ? You are as cold as the ice 
itself I” exclaimed her aunt. “ You must be ill, dear. Kelly, 
what is it, any way ?” and she turned to her daughter, demand- 
ing an explanation. 

“ It was Katie, mother ; I’m perfectly disgusted with her ; she 
behaved like a tigress, and—” 

“ What 1” screamed her mother, in shrill surprise. 

Bess got up in an instant, and caught Nelly’s hand. 

“ Why, aunt, you must get used to my being nervous ; Katie 
did not expect me back, and was startled at seeing me ; the least 
sound is exciting to me now. I must learn to get over this weak- 
ness. Help me up stairs, Nell, dear.” 

Well, as I came down, Ellen O’Toole stopped me for the 
keys of the linen closet, and, while I was searching my pocket for 
them, I thought I heard a wonderful flui-ry in here. Was it 
Katie, then ? Well, she did well to go before I came in.” 

Bess went up into her own room, drawing Nelly after her, and 
closed the door. 

“ Nelly,” she cried, in a breathless tone, “ as you love your 
mother, and value her peace, don’t let her know this. Whether 
I have wronged Katie or not, she thinks I have, which makes it 
so to her. I know she has wronged me, that makes it even ; for 
the rest let us trust to time, but your mother must not suffer 
through our broils. Katie will marry and go away ; but the cld 


202 


THE M0REI80NS. 


home must be kept peaceful for my aunt^s sake. Will you pro 
mise to help me in this, Nelly 

Yes, I will, Bess ; and I’ll try to be more like you in your 
thoughtful unselfishness” 

“ I’m not unselfish, Nell, I wish I were ; but I’m so worn out 
that I must have peace ; and when I want your mother to enjoy 
her dear old home, I know that I will be here with her.” 

“ You are a better daughter to her than Katie or I have ever 
been, and she relies on you entirely. So she might, for I know 
she’ll always be the same to you, even when you are married.” 

“ I shall never be married, Nelly ; and Katie and you will 
come and see us and talk of old times, when these disagreements 
are all forgotten.” 

Bess said this cheerfully, as she kissed her cousin’s cheek, and 
pushed her out of the room playfully, saying she must lie down 
for a little rest before dinner ; but when the door was closed, she 
forgot her need of it and paced the room, wringing her hands 
and weejiiiig bitterly, sayiug : 

“ I have hidden the truth by crushing my heart to stifle it, 
and am accused of worse. Oh, why did I not die that dreadful 
night when I first saw your face, Berkely Morrison ?” 


CHAPTEK XXII. 

KATIE WINS HER GAME. 

The day that began so threateningly, ended in the nearest ap- 
proach to gayety they had known since the unhappy shock of 
Cliristmas times. Mrs. Morrison had allowed Bess an hour of 
rest as she supposed, and then assailed her with propositions re- 
lative to toast and tea ; but Bess roundly declared in favor of 
sleep as a rest, and was left alone till dinner, when Katie return- 
ed from a inoriiing promenade in a decidedly improved temper. 


KATIE WINS HEE GAME. 


203 


and acknowledged to Nelly that it was much better not to take 
their mother into these disturbances, and that, execrable as Bess’s 
conduct was, she had too much self-respect to resent it publicly. 

“But wait, Nell,” she said, as they went down to dinner to- 
gether, “ no one has a greater passion for appearance and posi- 
tion than Bess Saunders, and I’ll make her feel mine when I gain 
it.” 

“You can never make Bess anything but what she means to 
be, Katie,” said Nell, doggedly ; “ and she’s a good, true girl. 
You’ve made me do her injustice many a time, but I’ll do so no 
more, Katie Morrison I” 

Instead of being displeased at her sister’s allegiance to Bess, 
Katie merely laughed, and went humming an air into the dining- 
room. Bess was not there ; she had not come down it seemed, 
and, waiting for the appearance of their mother and Uncle Terry, 
the girls took up their position at the window, and began a de- 
sultory conversation on the subject of spring dresses, on which 
theme there was a singular unanimity of feeling between them. 

“ Bess isn’t in her room,” said Mrs. Morrison, coming in. 

Uncle Terry followed her. 

“ I’m in a great way to have a look at her,” he said, “ and 
thought maybe she was here.” 

“ I am here, uncle,” cried Bess, cheerfully, from the kitchen, 
and she came in so like her old self again that the whole family 
assembled, exclaimed at the transformation. 

“ It’s my hair, aunt,” explained Bess ; “ I have been having 
it made up in wigs. I’ve tried the rounds of caps of all styles, 
and find nothing that I think becoming, so I’ve taken to my cast 
olf hair.” 

“ Bess,” cried Nell, heartily, “ it’s worth a fortune to see you 
look yourself again ; is it not, mother ?” 

“ Indeed and indeed it is,” responded Mrs. Morrison ; “ thi 
ooks like old times, and happy times they were.” 

Even Katie smiled approvingly, and a semblance of harmony 
in which Uncle Terry and Mrs. Morrison at least rejoiced, reign- 
ed over all 

The parlors were fully lighted that evening before the tea-bell 


204 


THE MOKRISONS. 


rang, and Bess, who had assumed her old place in the household, 
was just urging despatch to the lazy old Uncle Terry, when a 
hack brought Berkely up to the door, and a bound or two into 
the hall where he greeted and was greeted by his relatives as if 
he had been absent on an expedition to the North Pole. 

The tea-table was a merry meeting that night, and Besses re- 
stored beauty was a theme of delight. Berkely had seen J uliet 
and La-rry, he said, and they were coming to make a little visit 
on their way to the South. 

Juliet was looking better, and he argued much good from the 
expected change. He had taken a sort of interest in the affairs 
of the late Mr. Waters : that is, he had compromised with Larry 
for a portion of the stock, not seeming, to that gentleman, to 
promise much at public sale, and, retaining some of the old em- 
ployees of the late firm, had started the old business again on a 
much humbler footing. It would require his presence in New 
York about one week in three, and a half-yearly visit to the 
South and West, but was not a thoroughly absorbing object, as 
business once had been to him — merely an investment. 

Larry had done something to impress his cousin more favora- 
bly than he had ever done before, for Berkely spoke of him free- 
ly, and without the reluctance that had always marked his form- 
er mention of his name. 

The door-bell rang as they were still gathered round the table, 
and Jenny brought in the announcement of company for the 
evening. Katie and Nell, who were in full dress, went out to 
receive them, and presently Bess and the rest of the family joined 
them. 

Mr. and Mrs. Warren had stopped for the Haceys, and they 
had all come intent on driving away the lingering gloom that 
Bess’s long illness had brought upon the house of Morrison, 
The present disposition of the family aided their endeavors, and 
soon the merry hum and ringing laugh of united voices sounded 
cheerily through the parlors. Another ring at the door, and 
Katie’s placid face glowed at the visitor’s name — Mr. Joseph 
Waters. As she stepped forward to meet him, she gave Nelly 
a look thiit said : “ You see, I win,” and from that moment 


KATIE WINS HEK GAME. 


205 


became so charmingly gay and amiable, that had the soft-hearted 
fellow not already been a captive, his doom were certain. 

In the duetts of the evening, Katie bore no part — she sat in 
animated discussion with Mr. Waters, on the endless theme of 
chivalry, and so earnestly engaged were they in its merits, that 
the last guest departing found them still in eloquent under- 
tone. 

At last Mr. Joe arose and took a solemn and impressive leave 
of all the family. Nell being the last to receive his benediction, 
was so overcome the instant he was gone, that she was obliged 
to throw herself on a sofa in a paroxysm of laughter. Every 
one present guessed its cause, except her mother, who imme- 
diately proceeded to expostulate with her on her impropriety. 

“ What ails you that you act so, Nell V’ she asked. “ Mr. 
Waters is a good creature, though not very sharp ; why should 
you break out, as if you had never Jbeen taught decency in your 
own house 

But Katie could afford to forgive her. 

“ Mother,” she said, calmly, “ Mr. Waters wishes to see you 
to-morrow ; he has deferred his visit to New York for that 
purpose ” 

“ To see me ? Well he might have spoken to me to-night, for 
I suppose it^s something about Juliet’s coming here in the spring; 
they want her to stop with them, and must settle it with 
Bess.” 

Berkely stood ready to close the piano for Bess, who was 
putting away the scattered music. Mrs. Morrison hfid pushed 
back her easy-chair, and was shutting up her spectacle-case ; 
Uncle Terry stood looking at the carpet, and Nell continued her 
laughter. Katie took in the whole group from her stand, with 
her hand on the door. 

“ Mr. Waters’ business is of a personal nature, mother ; he 
wishes to consult you on a nearer subject — that of our union. 
He has proposed to me to-night, and I have accepted him, con- 
ditional of course on your approval,” As she said this, she cast 
a modest look of maidenly timidity on her parent, as if hoping 
to find her propitious to her young ha[»[»iness, and retired. 


206 


THE MORRISONS. 


Mrs. Morrison uttered a cry of amazement. 

“Well of all that ever I heard she exclaimed, and sank back 
in. her chair. 

“ Didn’t you see the drift of the Corsair, Peggy asked 
Dude Terry, laughing. 

“ What’s that ?” said his niece. “ I saw nothing but a soft- 
looking man, the last I would ever have charged Katie with 
fancying. He’s neither young nor handsome, and to tell you the 
truth, he has the look of a weak-minded creature to me. Oh, 
that I should live to see Katie make such a pick and choice.” 

Berkely, as family moderator, came to the rescue. 

“ Mr. Waters is a good fellow, aunt — not very attractive, per- 
haps, but reliable and respectable in every way. I think we 
should congratulate Cousin Katie on her ” 

“ Energy and perseverance,” murmured his uncle, in an under- 
tone. 

“ Choice,” finished Berkely, ignoring the old gentleman’s sug- 
gestion, and reproving him with an admonishing glance. 

“ I’ll have to hear it again before I believe it,” cried Mrs. 
Morrison, at length. “ Nell, I warn you to give over that cack- 
ling laugh of yours ; it’s enough to drive a body wild, and I 
won’t bear it.” 

But despite her mother’s threat, and her uncle’s affected dis- 
pleasure, Nell continued to give way to her mirth, and declared 
that it was the funniest thing she ever heard of, and would be 
too much for her before all was over, she was afraid. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


LITTLE BARNES. 



The next day Katie appeared in a new character among her 
family. She said little, but looked volumes of sweetness and 
delicate consciousness. Her maimer was perfect, gentle, con- 


LITTLE BARNES. 


207 


siderate, and obliging towards Bess and Nelly, respectfully defe- 
rential towards her mother, and bashfully shy towards Berkely 
and Uncle Terry. 

Nelly had so far recovered from her attack of the evening 
before, as only to explode in her handkerchief, and stifle her 
laughter in that manner, until Jenny announced “ Mr. Waters’ 
compliments, and could he speak with Mrs. Morrison,” when she.^ 
instantly retired from sight, in her own room, telling Bess, as she 
went, that if she only had the self-control to listen, it would be 
worth a life of trial to hear the unprompted promptings of the 
Corsair’s devoted heart. 

How Mr. Waters acquitted himself in this interview, no one 
but Mrs. Morrison ever knew ; but so long a time elapsed before 
its conclusion, that Nell came out of her retirement to consult 
with Bess on the advisability of breaking in on their privacy, 
lest some evil had befallen them. Her cousin, who had to keep 
in mind Katie’s bitterness of the day before, as a preventive to 
sharing Nelly’s mirth, felt relieved when her aunt at last rang the 
parlor-bell, and instructed Jenny Brackett to call Miss Morrison. 
It was some time before that young lady could be found, and 
when at last she was discovered in sweet confusion in her 
mother’s chamber, she obeyed the summons with such evident 
trembling and reluctance, that Uncle Terry and Nell made an 
afternoon of it up stairs in the old man’s sanctum, whence their 
laughter resounded faintly on the offended ears below. 

Mr. Waters had come in state in the family carriage, and as 
its wheels rolled away out of Burleigh Place, Mrs. Morrison 
summoned the family into the parlor. 

It was well for Nelly that she had laughed her laugh out, 
for her mother seemed in no wise inclined to favor her con- 
duct. 

“ I have seen Mr. Waters, as you know, this morning,”. she 
remarked, gravely, addressing herself to her uncle, but taking ju 
the whole family in her glance. “ He has formally asked for 
Katie’s hand, and I’m led to think he will make her a happy 
woman. If I had been bent on setting her off and telling her 
accomplishments a thousand times over, I could not equal his 


208 


THE MORRISONS. 


opinion of her ; it’s perfectly wonderful to hear him, and as far 
as it goes, he’s a rich and a well-sized man, though none too 
sharp-looking, I allow you.” 

Having thus declared in favor of her future son-in-law, Mrs. 
Morrison looked around her to take in the family views on the 
ame subject. 

Uncle Terry became serious instantly. 

“ Katie,” said he, “ when a good, honest, well-to-do man 
chooses a portionless girl like you, he pays your beauty a compli 
ment, and renders a profound tribute to your mind and manners : 
but your heart and principles he takes on trust. It is in these 
he may be most easily deceived, and in these it is your duty to 
be true. Let him find at least what he expects — a devoted, 
considerate Mend, worthy of the position he offers you, and will- 
ing to repay in kind, the sincerity and love of a good heart.” 

He took her in his arms and kissed her with some feeling, and 
Mrs. Morrisou, struck for the first time that this new arrange- 
ment involved a parting in the family, burst into tears, without 
more ado. 


But this was the first and last show of grief in Katie’s wed- 
ding, everything else was as auspicious as could be imagined or 
hoped. 

Berkely had asked the family to go with him to inspect the 
finished beauties of the Myers Lane improvements, and coming 
home in a capacidhs barouche next day for that purpose, found 
Charlotte making a ceremonious visit of congratulation, in com 
pany with her brother, and full of merry compliments about the 
double family connection. The jaunt was no sooner named, than 
she straightway proposed to join it, and her brother in n-’* \vi: e 
objecting, they took Katie and Mrs. Mori is ,ii vvit.i tht ai, wmle 
Berkely, Uncle Terry and the young ladies made up the barouche 
party. 

On the way, Kelly inforr^ed her companions that the wedding 
would unfortunately have to be rather a quiet one, as the recent 
death in the family demanded it should, but that they might 


LIITLE BARNES. 


209 


trust to Kiltie to make as much of it as possible under the cir- 
cumstances. 

“ Larry is expected to return from the Soutli about the 
beginning of May, and that will be in time to give Katie away, 
as the great day is to be the 10th,” she concluded. 

Nell was very full of her theme, and enjoyed it thoroughly. 
“ There were to be six bridesmaids,” she said, though they had 
only dared to hint three to iheir mother as yet ; and Uncle Terry 
must engage to support them in everything, as it was important 
that the first family wedding should be perfect. 

“ You know that we canT call Larry’s a wedding — it was a 
romantic runaway, without either sense or style, and as far as I 
can learn, not a single bridesmaid.” 

“ Do you tell me so !” cried Uncle Terry, in affected horror. 

“ And so Katie’s will be a church-wedding, and the Bishop 
will marry her,” pursued Nell, shaking her muff at the old man. 
“ That is the only proper way, don’t you think so, Bess ?” 

But I thought it was to be a quiet wedding, on account of 
the death of Mr. Waters’ brother,” said her cousin, in surprise ; 
“ I may be mistaken, but I think it will be very gay.” 

“ Not gay, but effective, Bess,” laughed Nelly. “ We’ll have 
no grand reception — just cards for the home in West Park. But 
Katie’s church principles demand a church marriage, you know, 
so does the lace- dress she has planned.” 

“ Ob, this is what you two have devised, without regard to 
your mother’s views,” said Bess, smiling ; “ you’ll have to meet 
somewhere half way between this and her more meagre ideas.” 

“Not if you three stand up for the right,” said Nell, confi- 
dently. “ But here we are at Myers Lane ; you see, I recognize 
it, Berkely, by the draughts Pve seen you mak(' ” 

Berkely’s plans for improvement, like the deeds of most young 
philanthropists, had out-run their original design, and appeared, 
when complete, far in advance of both time and place. The mis- 
erable shells of the tenement houses were divided into double 
dwellings, only connected by the large hall running through their 
centre. The wood-work was all grained and varnished as a shield 
against the smears that had appalled Berkely on the former paint 


210 


THE MOlililSONS. • 


of the houses ; closets, with shelves and drawers, were construct- 
ed to aid the orderly bestowing away of the articles with which 
tliey had once seemed to pave the floor ; and every inducement 
that nicety and convenience could offer against discomfort and 
dirt was completely displayed in every dwelling. 

“ Who is going to live here ? What kind of people, I mean, 
Berkely ?” asked Nelly, considering the neighborhood with any- 
thing but an encouraged glance from the front windows of the 
corner house. 

Why, that’s the question. Cousin Nell,” said Berkely, beat- 
ing his cane against his boot in a dissatisfied sort of way. “ I 
thought I had the tenants in the former possessors of the soil, 
but they’re too fine for that class, and so I’ve bought in those 
shanties in the small street at the back, and they are in process 
of patching up now.” 

Bess and Nelly walked over to the room in which a view of 
the new improvements could be obtained, and saw piles of mor- 
tar and carpenters’ benches surrounding some dirty, defaced sin- 
gle houses, that were doorless and windowless, and very unprom- 
ising in every feature. 

“ So these front dwellings are not engaged at all ?” said Bess. 

“ Oh, yes, the half of them are rented already,” he returned. 
“ I have found an agent in a good, reliable fellow, named Barnes, 
who was thrown from a building by the breaking of some scaf- 
folding, and injured for life in the spine. I was fortunate in 
meeting him, for he thoroughly understands the people he deals 
with, and is, besides, an agreeable, whimsical sort of creature that 
one can’t help liking.” 

The rest of the party had been wandering up and down the 
different dwellings under Mr. Waters’ escort, and, returning, they 
all met in the hall of the house where Berkely and the girls were, 
and compared notes of admiration. 

“.They’re as complete and convenient in every respect as if you 
had been an old housekeeper yourself, Berkely,” said his aunt. 
“ Charlotte and Katie have been compliinenting you beyond 
everything.” 

“ Do you see the poor little fellow coming towards us, aunt ?” 


LITTLE BARNES. 


211 


asked Berkely, as n man, unnaturally short through a curve in 
his back, and slightly lame at the same time, came hobbling up 
the street. 

The ladies looked in the indicated direction. 

“ Well, he is the real projector and arranger,” continued Berke- 
ly, “ although I must give him credit for some sensible advice on 
the subject of curtailing, that I didn’t follow. This is Mr 
Barnes, ladies.” The little man had by this time come up with 
them and paused respectfully, hat in hand. “ I have been tell- 
ing my aunt and cousins, Barnes, how invaluably serviceable 
you’ve been to such a novice as I am at all practical work.” 

The man had a sallow, sickly face, with large wistful eyes, but 
when he smiled, every feature brightened and became almost 
handsome. An ardent flush dyed his cheeks now, and he looked 
up with a shy sort of sharpness. 

“ Mr. Morrison never built or contracted with builders before, 
ladies, but business is business, whatever it’s made of, and he 
needed nothing but a hint here and there about things that cus- 
tom has made second nature to me.” 

“ Well, sir,” said Mrs. Morrison, who did not relish her 
nephew’s abnegation in favor of a deformity like Barnes, “ every 
one should do their part, and your’s is not despised, you see ; 
but, as you say, it would be a strange story if Mr. Morrison, after 
all l^s training in foreign parts, should have to come home to be 
instructed in business.” 

The little man nodded approvingly, and then turned to Berkely 
to answer some questions relative to the rear houses, while Mr. 
Waters assisted the ladies to the carriages. 

“Mr. Morrison,” said Charlotte, when they were fairly started 
on their way homeward, “ I think I should really place in your 
hands the responsible task of providing me with a snug little old 
maid establishment.” 

They had exchanged Nell into the Waters coach, and taken 
Cliarlotte in her place. 

Berkely looked astonished. 

“ Why, do you imagine that I mean to live in West Park af- 
ter May?” she said, laughing. “No worse fate can befall a 
14 


212 


THE MOREI 



house than to have two mistresses, so I’m going to abdicate at 
once in favor of the upholsterers and men in paper caps. Don’t 
mention it to Joe yet, please ; he’s a dear, soft-hearted fellow, 
and not at all practical, so lie’ll be quite cut up until I talk him 
into understanding it.” 

Not less affected at the prospect of separation herself, she took 
out her handkerchief and wiped the tears that commenced rolling 
down her nose at the idea. ' ^ 


“ For you see,” she explained, “ I know his nature, and it’s a 
nobler one than most people will take the trouble to find out. 
Poor dear fellow I poor dear fellow I” 

Uncle- Terry echoed her sigh, and then joined in the laugh with 
which she followed it. 

These weddings are terrible things. Miss Waters,” he said. 

“You and I can afford to pity the misled victims ; can’t we, 
Mr. Blake ?” she answered. 

A regular family tea drinking took place at the Morrisons that 
night ; and Mr. Waters, whose bearing and genial manner were 
greatly improved since he had got the proposal off his mind, al- 
most shone in conversation. There was but one mal-apropos fea- 
ture in his newly developed loquacity : he used it chiefly to ad- 
mire and praise Bess Saunders, a theme most distasteful to his 
bride elect. 

“ I used to think Charlotte almost beyond perfection,” he ac- 
knowledged, as Bess left them to facilitate Ellen O’Toole’s 
movements ; “ but you never were pretty, you know, Charley ; 
and Miss Saunders is so useful, and so handsome and brilliant 
too — it seems a rare list of endowments, don!t it, Mr. Blake ?” 

“ Faith, does it,” assented Uncle Terry, tracing a line in the 
carpet with his boot-toe. 

“ While we had her up at our house she made it so cheerful 
that the change is dreary now, isn’t it, Charley ?” 

“ It’s very uncivil to tell me so, I’m sure, Joe, 'while I am 
wearing myself out to be pleasant to you,” returned his sister, 
with affected displeasure. 

He hastened to set matters right, with his broad, honest 
countenance looking as earnest as if lives were at stake 


LITTLE BARNES. 


213 


But, Charley,” he said, “ I never could get on without you 
at all. You’re a luxury I’m used to, and that has become in- 
dispensable ; but Miss Saunders was a new delight.” 

Miss W aters glanced round and smothered a faint sigh in a 
pleasant laugh. 

“ Katie, you have an immense amount of heart to calculate on 
in this dear old brother of mine ; he’s inconveniently affectionate, 
as the world goes.” 

Katie, whatever her own views on the theme in question, sim- 
ply smiled, with a sweetness that might mean anything one 
wished to interpret it. 

At tea, Bess came to the rescue, and made the conversation 
of a character that Mr. Waters best shone in, and TJncle Terry 
glowed with delight as they all went back to the Crusades toge- 
ther. Katie hung breathlessly on the words of her lover, as he 
repeated snatches from old metrical romances, celebrating the 
feats of arms among the Saracen host, and supposed to be sung 
by greybeard minstrels in baronial halls. 

“ It was St. Louis, wasn’t it, Joe, that sewed crosses on the 
shoulders of the cloaks he gave his courtiers at Easter ? He 
presented them at night, and the gallants donned them in the 
morning to find themselves crusaders, you know, girls. Well,” 
continued Charlotte, laughing, “ I never put on a new garment 
after one of these conversations without examining it carefully, 
for fear Joe has determined that I shall start for the Holy Land, 
and marked my clothes.” 

These remarks — which to Mrs. Morrison “ were just fair ncn- 
sense,” as she afterwards acknowledged, “ for what would make 
the man want to start his own sister off among haythens” — 
closed the long discourse on chivalry that would have warmed 
the heart of Don Quixote himself, and were almost as acceptable 
to Terrence Blake. The two visitors rolled away home in the 
green coach, and Katie went instantly to bed, in pursuance of 
her resolution to spare her complexion for that great event, the 
wedding. 

There were two months to work in, but they began prepara- 
tions at once. Katie displayed an energy and business tact that 


214 


THE MORRISONS. 


was absolutely surprising in one so little given to exertion on 
previous occasions. Her ideas of a wardrobe were so extensive 
and expensive, tiiat in the outstart her mother entered a breath- 
less protest against such impossible grandeur. 

“ For where in all the world can we find the money to pay 
such bills, Katie?’' she argued. ‘'With all the saving we can- 
do between this and then, three hundred dollars is the most that 
I can see, look where I will ; and that is giving not one cent to 
Bess but Berkely’s money for the housekeeping.” 

“ ni have it made a thousand before the week’s over,” said 
Katie, decidedly. “ Larry Morrison has it, and shall give it up. 
Do you think he doesn’t know that he should do something for 
bis family now he has a chance ? Of course he does, and I’ll see 
that it’s done.” 

“ Why, as for Larry,” began Mrs. Morrison, her face coloring 
at the thought, “ what he has came through his wife, and it 
seems to me a hard thing to be beholden to her for your clothes, 
Katie. I’d rather do with what we can get decently, than try 
to gain more in such a way.” 

“ Pshaw I” said her daughter, impatiently, “ that’s very well 
in the way of theory. The money’s Larry’s now, wherever it 
came from ; and you know as well as I do, that when he lived 
with us, all we had gave way to him and his pleasure and ad- 
vancement. Now it’s in his power to repay in a slight degree 
the kindness lavished on him, and he shall do it.” 

“ Ask it in your own name ; mind, I warn you,” said her mo- 
ther, decidedly ; “ I’ll have nothing to do with such works ; if 
Larry, of his own free mind offered, there’s no one would be 
more pleased than me ; but I’ll wait till then.” 

“ That would be forever,” said Katie, shortly. “ I don’t mean, 
for the sake of romantic scruples, to go into that old maid’s 
family without the ability to hold my own with them.” 

She brushed past her mother and sister, and went into her 
own room, as they thought, to write to her brother ; but Katie 
was no sluggard where her own interests were concerned, and so 
the petition had been dispatched to Larry the very day after her 
engagement with Mr. Waters. 


THE travelers’ RETURN. 


215 


The answer came towards the end of the week, and Katie tri- 
umphantly carried it into the room where Bess and her mother 
and sister sat working at some of the wedding gear. 

“ I have a letter from Larry, mother,” she mentioned casually, 
for it was no part of her policy to let Bess know her manoeuvres, 
“ and he says they start to-morrow. They will only be here a 
day or two, and make their visit on their return.” She half 
turned to go, but pausing, said : “ Ah, yes, I had almost for- 
gotten ; Larry makes me a little present. A wedding gift, he 
says, and which may be more acceptable in the form of money. 
It’s a check for five hundred — very kind and thoughtful, and 
will help -out with the trousseau, as he thought.” 

Katie mentioned the sum slightingly, as if quite used to such 
bounties, but her eye looked out keenly and caught Bess’s look& 
of amazement first, and then delight and pleasure. 

“ Aunt,” she said, in a tone that trembled, do what she would 
to hide it, “ I think that’s truly kind in Larry; and I’m so 
glad that you’ll have all you want, Katie !” 

Katie laughed lightly. “ All I want !” she echoed. “ My 
ideas are too magnificent to be bounded by so small a sum, Bess, 
but it’s very well in its way, you know — very well in its way.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE travelers’ RETURN. 

Contrary to his avowed intention, Larry did not stop at his 
old home in his Southern route ; he only made his expectant re- 
lations aware of the change in his plans, by writing to them from 
Savannali of his arrival there, and mentioning incidentally that 
he had concluded it best to have no breaks in the -journey they 
could avoid, and had gone right onward. 

Tile time had passed busily enough in Burleigh Place. Miss 
Waters had gone to live in what she called bachelor-style, in a 


216 


THE MORRISONS. 


bouse of her own, near Dr. Wendell’s, on Grove street, and the 
West Park mansion was reported by her as growing absolutely 
magnificent under repairs. The wedding-dresses, under the care 
of the joint taste of the family and two resident dress-makers, 
were progressing rapidly to perfection, and Larry was daily ex- 
pected from Jsew Orleans. Berkely had been nearly all the time 
in New York since his assuming the responsibility of a business 
there, and when he was at home, the Myers Lane work claimed 
bis constant attention. 

“ Wiiich makes it very pleasant for us, Charlotte,” Katie said, 
coufidentiaily, to Miss Waters, “for to tell you the truth, gen 
tlemen are a shocking bore at such times as these, and Berkely 
though so gentlemanlike in manner, has an almost vulgarly keen 
observation of trifles that keeps one constantly on their guard.” 

If Katie really objected to gentleman’s society in these days 
of preparation, she must have been fearfully bored by Joseph 
Waters, Esq., who came daily and stole a morning hour from 
the sewing-room, and occupied each and every evening of Katie’s 
existence. Nelly and Bess worked busily, and with as much 
interest in the event as if it had never been the cause of a 
moment’s disagreeable feeling in the family; and Mrs. Morrison, 
with momentary waverings between pride in the style of the pre- 
parations, and misgivings that they were rather out of keeping 
with the family means, divided her time in gratified smiles and 
sighing, and shakings of her head. 

On the morning of tlie 8th of May, all the scattered shreds and 
clippings that had littered the young ladies’ apartment for so long, 
were swept away thoroughly. The last dress was complete, and 
the lust exhausted sewing-woman had departed. Katie drew a 
deep breath of gratified approval, as she held her wai-drobe door 
ajar, and refreshed her eyes with the delightful sight of so many 
rich skirts of silk and tissue, barege and muslin ; she even went 
so far as to call up Nelly from assisting Bess in a general dusting 
and p<disliiijg, after Ellen’s less discriminating brush. 

“ W fiat’s the matter ?” cried that young lady, arriving breath 
lessly, with her head enveloped in a brown veil, and a faded silk 
handkerchief grasped in her cotton-gloved hands. 


THE travelers’ RETURN. 


217 


“ Take those hideous things off you, Nelly,” said Katie, “ and 
come and look at the effect of these dresses as they hang here. 
I’m thoroughly satisfied with them, and I don’t believe Belle 
Dacey’s will bear comparing, though she will be able to spend 
twice as much.” 

At first inclined to resent the call from her employment, Nel]^ 
was softened in a moment by the view of the dresses thus pre- 
sented to her gaze, and agreed with her sister that the Daceys 
could do no more, though so much better able to make their 
daughters a grand wedding. 

“ But,” she added, “ l^must say that it’s lucky Berkely’s been 
away as he has — such a pinched, stinted way of living as we’ve 
gone through, to pay those two dress-makers out of the house- 
keeping. Well, I don’t want to see another such two months, 
although it’s quite reduced me, and I can wear your pink watered 
silk easily now.” 

“ Which I beg, Nell, you’ll never think of doing ; it’s a vulgar 
thing to do ; and the night you had it on at the Floral concert, 
I was in distress,” said Katie, with real feeling. 

“ But don’t you see that we are all left short to get you up in 
this style,” urged her sister ; “ and you saw no vulgarity in wear- 
ing Bess’s lace shawl yourself.” 

“ A shawl is an entirely different thing,” interposed Katie ; 
but Nell ran down, laughing, to her work, and told Bess that 
Katie was above, gloating over her possessions, and would need 
no dinner. 

This was the morning of the day they looked for Larry and 
his wife ; so remembering ^eir last arrival, they were through 
betimes, and ready for thei^-eceptiou. But this time they came 
no earlier than expected, and scarcely then, for the whole family 
were assembled in the parlor a full hour when the hack turned 
into Burleigh Place, perfectly burdened with trunks and pack- 
ages, and they alighted and entered the house. There is always 
so much confusion and excitement in a meeting, that Bess at first 
could scarcely see how Juliet looked, except that she was robed 
and draped in black, like a widow ; but when they were all quiet 
and sitting around the lighted tea-table, her heart sank at what4 

10 


THE MORRISONS. 


218 

« 

she saw, although she had known that she should see it. The 
beautiful face was no longer beautiful ; sharpened and care-worn, 
it seemed that years, not months, had passed over it since it had 
slione there, gay and happy as a bride’s. The eyes were by turns 
watchful and listless, as was the whole face. A word, and it 
would start up into an eager, keen expression of suspicion, that 
lied out to leave a weary look of utter hopelessness. 

“ I have been sick,” she explained to Mrs. Morrison, whose 
unaffected astonishment at the change in her appearance broke 
out in words : “I don’t think I like to travel ; I shall be glad 
to be at rest.” 

Bess, sitting opposite, was a singular contrast to the faded 
bride, who, though a year or two younger, like most delicate 
beauties, looked prematurely old in ill-health. Her hair had 
grown so that the wig was abandoned long ago, and the circlet 
of short curls in its place were very becoming to her exquisite 
complexion. She looked almost rosy from her constant exertion, 
and her face was as smooth and happy as if she had never known 
a care. Larry’s eye lingered on her, critically marking this, and 
then glanced at his wife. Berkely’s look crossed his a dozen 
times as he made this contrast, but he didn’t seem to mind it, 
and watched her boldly with admiration in his eyes. He was 
entirely the same, if you excepted a slight disposition to be dog- 
matic and commanding, that Nelly laughed at in the outstart, 
but could not check. 

The morning after his arrival, vowing that the day before 
a wedding was a dull affair except to those immediately inter- 
ested, he took a horse and rode out, leaving Mrs. Larry in her 
room with a headache, and the rest of the family busy assisting 
Katie in her packing. ‘ ^ 

It was to be a morning wedding, and the carriages were to be 
in waiting at ten. That, Katie argued, w'ould bring the bridal 
party back to lunch at a little after eleven. At one they were 
to start en route for Niagara ; that is, Katie, Mr. Waters and 
Nelly wT.re to go; and no reception would take place until their 
return to AVest Park. 

There are so few wliose complexions will bear morning wmd- 


THE TEAVELERS’ RETURN’. 


219 


dings, that mine seems providential, since Mr. Waters’ brother’s 
death prevents an evening display,” she said to her relatives, as 
she directed which trunks should be sent to West Park and 
which to the depot. ' 

“ Mother, isn’t Juliet appalling ? but it’s what I expected, for 
she freckles slightly, and has nervous attacks, so foolish in her, 
when Larry dotes on beauty.” 

“ What sort of talk is that you’re putting out of your mouth,” 
cried her mother, angrily ; “ a body would think, to hear you, 
that the Almighty hadi no hand in folks’ lives at all. The poor 
thing misses the Iwe she’s been used to ; her father’s heart grew 
cold when she neeoed its warmth most ; Larry’s but a poor stay 
for a wounded soul ; may the Lord have mercy on her, and 
draw her heart to Himself.” 

“ Amen I” said Bess, solemnly ; and the whole party were 
silent for awhile, until Nelly unfolded and tried on a white 
sacque of India muslin that was exquisitely v/rought, and the 
pride of Katie’s life, when that young lady immediately took it 
off her, and with many rebukes restored it to its original folds. 

A quiet day was followed by a no less quiet evening, although 
the house was filled with company. Charlotte Waters and Katie 
sat in Juliet’s room, for she still declared herself too miserable to 
appear in the parlor, while a sort of gentlemen’s party of Uncle 
Terry, Larry, Berkely and Mr. Waters talked to each other in 
the parlor, and Bess, Nell and Mrs. Morrison looked over prepa- 
rations for the collation that was styled a lunch, but had some 
sumptuous features in it that belonged to a more imposing meal. 


“ Shall you not feel better in the morning, Mrs. Morrison ?” 
asked Bess, pausing at her door late that night, after the guests 
had departed. Juliet was sitting in an easy chair, wrapped in a 
shawl, as she had been ever since her arrival, and looked up 
drearily at the sound of her voice. 

“ O, yes, no doubt I shall,” she answered, absently. “ I 
shall be quite well as soon as I’m completely rested. Is it late ?” 

“Rather late. All the family have gone to bed but Mr. 


220 


THE MORRISONS. 


Berkely Morrison and your husband, who are still talking in the 
parlor.” 

Juliet looked up quickly. “ Do you want to do me a kind- 
ness that I shall never fqrget, Miss Saunders ?” 

Bess came instantly within the doorway, and made her atten- 
tive face answer the question. 

“ Yes, I see you will. You are the best of them, I know ; 
but I cannot forget that he — well, never mind, that’s all over 
now. Only save me from this wedding ; I cannot, will not look 
at it.” 

Bess came still nearer, and closed the door behind her. 
Juliet rose, and laid her hand upon her aHh ; she spoke in a 
weak, disconnected way. 

“ I am changed and broken down ; it’s a great blow to lose 
the love that held you in its strong, true keeping from every 
harm, and — aud I am very wretched — that’s natural — I was so 
happy, so hopeful, so mad — for I would not believe in what was 
before me, nor listen to warning. Oh, it would bring it all back 
again, and I should die — ^if I saw another wedding.” She threw 
herself back in her chair and wrapt the shawl around her, but 
neither cried nor moaned — only shivered and seemed cold. 
Bess looked at her with her whole heart full of kindness in her 
dark eyes, but Juliet’s gaze was downcast, and she threw herself 
from side to side restlessly in the great chair, cowering as if she 
were freezing. 

“ You need not go at all, Mrs. Morrison ; just tell me what 
you wish done, and I’ll attend to it. Are you sick ?” 

“ I’m cold ; I began to be cold down in that fearfully warm 
place. Lawrence said it was because I drank iced drinks, and he 
mixed me something that made me worse. I was very, very ill 
there among strangers. I thouglit I should have died ; I’m better 
now, only I don’t think this that I take helps me.” She rose and 
got a large bottle from a drawer and handed it to Bess. 

“ Lawrence got it from his doctor, but I cannot think it 
makes me better.” 

Bess took it up in her hand and held it between her and the 
light, noticing that an odd sediment settled in the bottom. Aa 


THE WEDDING. 


221 


she looked, a strong hand grasped it from her, and starting back 
astonished, she saw the face of her Cousin Larry, white with 
anger and wild with the gleaming of his eyes, confront her, while 
the bottle, shivered in atoms, lay on the marble hearth, and its 
liquid trickled slowly away in little streams. She had heard the 
crash as he threw it there, and marked the terrified shrinking of 
Juliet as if she expected the uplifted hand to deal her a blow, 
and then she turned to fly from the room, for she had never 
seen a man that looked so fiendishly at a woman. 

“ Stop I” he said, fiercely. “ What did she say to you ? 
What has she told you ? Speak I do you hear me ? Speak I” 

Bess’s fear vanished the moment the angry man addressed her, 
and she turned upon him and shook off his restraining hands as 
if they had been straws. 

“ Don’t touch me, you miserable wretch ; don’t touch me, or 
I declare to heaven I’ll say that that you’ll tremble to hear. She 
has told nothing, or said nothing ; she does not need to ; her 
face tells her story ; look at her, and remember the young beauty 
you have blighted. Lawrence Morrison, you are twisting a rope 
for your own neck.” 

He thrust his face close to her as she passed him. 

“ It is you who are so beautiful and tempt me,” he whispered. 

She struck it out of her way as if it had been a hideous mask, 
and he recoiled with the marks of her white fingers tingling on 
his cheek. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE WEDDING. 

A BRIGHT May morning dawned auspiciously for Katie’s nup- 
tials, and all the household were astir betimes, but little hope 
had Ellen O’Toole of having her summons to breakfast answer- 
ed. Mrs. Morrison was looking pale and worried, and, despite 
her lavender silk and blonde cap, showed anything but a cheer- 


222 


THE MORRISONS. 


ful face. A tray was carried up to Mrs. Larry^s room and brought 
away again untouched, except that a little of the tea was gone. 
Katie and Nelly breakfasted early with Larry, who had after- 
wards stretched himself for a nap on the parlor sofa, to be called 
at nine ; and Bess was flying from room to room, helping this 
one and waiting on that one, aiding the preparations. 

“ Just see to Juliet, and do beg her to wear something white 
about her, will you, Bess cried Katie, whose wedding robes 
were in process of being laced up by Nell. 

“ Juliet is not well enough to think of going, Katie,” said 
Bess, seriously. “ Don’t ask her ; it will be highly improper to 
think of it.” 

“ Now that is shameful I How will it look ? There’s some- 
thing absolutely degrading in her getting up this illness now, 
when it will seem as if she resented the family connection.” 

Katie grew angry in a moment, for that all the Waters should 
appear charmed at the union, was a favorite plan of hers, and 
she could not endure that anything should interfere with this 
idea ; but it proved so entirely impracticable that Mrs. Larry 
should be forced up and dressed, that mortifying as it was, Katie 
was obliged to yield to fate. 

“ It’s nine o’clock now, and the bridesmaids will arrive pre- 
sently ; Larry’s sleeping in the parlor ; Juliet was so restless 
last night, that she gave him no peace. Will any one run and 
awaken him, and see about the flowers there ?” cried Katie, dis- 
tractedly, and in one breath. 

“ I will,” answered Bess, readily. “ The flowers are all ar- 
ranged, and I’ll waken Larry.” 

She went down, and opening the parlor door, looked in. He 
was lying with his head thrown back on the arm of a sofa, and 
his shining black hair relieved against the scarlet of its cushions. 
His eyes were closed, but Bess knew he was not sleeping, so she 
came and stood opposite to him until he chose to open them. 
Only for a moment he allowed her to contemplate the perfect 
beauty of his features in repose, and then he looked up at her 
and smiled innocently. 

“ Is it time to get up, Cousin Bess ?” he asked, in a natural, easy 


THE WEDHTNTr. 


223 


voice, as if they had parted the best of friends on the night 
before. 

“ Yes.^^ she said, not so fortunate in maintaining her quiet 
tone. “ And T am come to tell you, what I have not respect 
enough for you to believe you would do of yourself : — Lawrence 
Morrison, you must leave this house to-day. I will not suffer 
you to remain here another night. Remember, I am not an idle 
speaker, and I say you shall not !” 

He considered an instant, and to do him justice, his face 
flushed under this unceremonious order. 

“ Why shall I not stay here, Bess Saunders ?” he asked. 
“ What right have you to tell me so in my mother’s house ?” 

She bit her lips once or twice, and then said, slowly and pain- 
fully : 

“ It is my house — you know it, and you force me to say so — 
it is my house, and you shall not stay in it.” 

He had made up his mind what to do now, and so he rose, 
and bowed slightly in acquiescence. 

“ You have been so generous to us, Bess,” he said, in a hum- 
ble manner, “that you must forgive me for forgetting the obli- 
gations we are under to you. A poor spirited set, Bess, a beg- 
garly set, and you do well to remind us of our position.” 

He moved slowly away, and Bess’s generous heart throbbed 
in exquisite pain ; she was pale and sick ; nothing could hurt 
her more than this, as well he knew, and so he said no more, but 
quietly went up to his own chamber. 

Nell, in honor of her position of first bridesmaid, was nearly as 
resplendent as Katie herself ; but Bess, who was not to be in 
the train, wore simple white muslin. Not that Katie had neg- 
lected to ask her ; such a devoted lover of appearances never 
could have omitted that attention. Her answer was a short and 
decided one : 

“ I cannot afford to buy myself a new dress sufficiently elegant, 
but I’m obliged to you for the compliment.” 

Katie was too sensible to ever accuse Bess of falsehood ; she 
knew her truthful nature, though she did not value it, and there- 


S24 


THE MORKISONS. 


fore made no demur, though in her heart she chafed at Bess’s 
decision. 

“ She has been doing something with her money, for she has 
sold her diamonds sure enough, and I can’t account for what she 
has done with the price.” She also thought, and this was perhaps 
the secret of her annoyance, “ She makes such a splendid figure, 
and is such a feature in the family ; besides, there will only be 
five of them now she has declined.” 

Katie looked approvingly at Kelly when her toilette was 
perfected. 

“ You’ll be a sweet bride yourself, Kell ; you look like an an- 
gel in white,” she said, and kissed her for the good taste she 
displayed in being lovely at such a proper time. 

Belle Dacey was number two, and Carrie Little, Adah Par- 
ker, and the younger Miss Lindley completed the train. 

At a quarter to ten, the whole house was alive with bustle 
and the rustling of silks flying up and down stairs. The parlors 
were half filled with gentlemen, friends of Mr. Waters and the 
family, to whom he was presenting them over and over again, in 
a nervous frenzy. Yases and goblets were filled with white roses 
and orange flowers, and the perfume of hot-house blossoms 
ladened the air. Every one looked smiling, but subdued ; there 
was no hilarity, for there was a sort of hushed waiting for the 
coming of the bride. Old Dr. Dacey w'alked up and down, 
glancing at the pictures and sniffing at the flowers, till at last, 
seeing Larry unoccupied, he came up and inquired after Juliet. 

“ I don’t see Mrs. Morrison here ; she should be the centre 
flower in this bouquet of bloom,” said the gallant old doctor. 

“ Juliet isn’t very blooming just now,” said Larry ; “ the poor 
girl was so shocked by her father’s death last Christmas, that she 
hasn’t rallied yet. She has a weak constitution, and no vitality.” 

“ Shall w6 not see Mrs. Morrison, then ?” asked several gen- 
tlemen, gathering round the speaker. 

Larry shook his head : “ Pm afraid not ; the effort to dress 
and appear in such a company would be too much for her just 
now.” 

^It was ten o’clock. Katie was quite ready, and so Uncle 


THE WEDDING. 


225 


Terry signified to Larry, who ran up stairs and gave her his 
arm. The door of the first carriage was flung open, and the 
gentlemen crowded forward into the hall to catch a ghmpse of 
the graceful form draped in soft silk covered with rich Sice from 
head to foot that glided past them like a beautiful sprite, and 
was lifted into the carriage out of their sight. Then came the 
more substantial figure of Mrs. Morrison, whose idea of decorum 
on these occasions was an utter absence of expression, and a 
strong leaning towards angularity. She stepped stiffly beside 
Mr. Waters, and touched his arm merely with her gloved finger- 
tips. Miss Charlotte Waters, whose bright dark face looked out 
of place in the glory of white brocade, had yet done violence to 
herself to that extent in honor of the occasion, and now followed 
with IJncle Terry, who looked singularly grave for him. After 
them followed the fluttering beauty of five exquisitely-dressed 
girls, all vieing with each other in taste and loveliness, and 
relieved by a baej^-ground of black broadcloth and embroidered 
vests. In weddings, as in funerals, the lesser lights follow as 
they may, so the Warrens, and the Parkers, and the remaining 
Daceys huddled into the remaining carriages,^ and were hurried 
away after the rest. 


In the centre of the empty parlors Elizabeth Saunders stood 
alone, her hand upon her beating heart, her lips compressed, and 
her dreary eyes fixed upon the scattered rose leaves that had 
fallen from the innumerable bridal posies. Not alone, for in the 
door-way another woman stood in the same attitude (it is so 
natural for us to shield a wound, even if it be an invisible one). 
Thus they stood ; a perfect contrast in face and raiment, nothing 
alike or in sympathy between them, save the hurt that they both 
had suffered. 

“ Are they all gone asked Juliet, coming in stealthily, and 
moving like a black shadow over the broad bars of sunshine that 
lay on the carpet between her and Bess. 

“ Yes,” said Bess, starting up, as if from a trance. “ Why 
did you come down alone ? You are not able to walk.” 


226 ' 


THE MORRISONS. 


Yes, I am ; I am better now ; but I may never see you 
alone again, and so I came to speak to you. We go away to- 
night, and will never come back here again together, because 
my fac^etrays him. When you hear that it’s all over, tell him 
to put me beside my father — he’ll obey you — and I shall have 
the hope of being near him in the long rest I am going to.” 

“ Juliet,” said Bess, solemnly ; “ when God takes you home, 
you will see him in heaven.” She said this, because in her 
heart of hearts she felt death was the only true balm this 
wounded soul should ever know ; but Juliet shook her hopeless 
head. 

“ I was deaf to his prayers and outraged his counsel ; he died 
full of the miserable dread for my future that I saw marked on 
his face, when I wrung his consent from him by ceaseless tears. 
I have sowed and am reaping, and the harvest will be gathered 
in another world.” 

“ You suffer daily, and God is a God of mercy.” 

“ I have seen or known no mercy, and I look for none,” said 
Juliet. “ When I die, make him bury me where I told you ; if 
he knew I wished it, he would thwart me.” 

She turned and went away, leaving Bess to welcome the re- 
turning company, and Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Waters. 


END OF BOOK FIRST. 


A GLIMPSE OF FORTUNE. 


227 


CHAPTER XXVI 

A GLIMPSE OF FORTUNE. 

The house of Morrison, having lessened its force by branching 
off into another tributary stream, flowed on rather more quietly 
and sedately than it had ever done before. All its glory and 
splendor was transferred to West Park. The bridal party re- 
turned after a fortnight’s tour among the Eastern States, finished 
off by a glance at Xiagara, and then Mrs. Joseph Waters was 
at home to her friends. 

“Not to everybody,” as she wisely remarked to her sister ; 
“ that would be simply idiotic, you know. There are a dozeu 
people that we have been forced to know, because they were in 
some way connected with my father’s early life at home. They 
are not to be thought of in our new sphere ; it would be an 
insult to my own good fortune if 1 did not improve by it, so I 
mean to gather about me the best people of our old life, and 
judiciously cultivate the best that I shall be thrown amongst in 
my new relations.” 

What Katie meant by the “best” was not simply the grand- 
est or wealthiest ; she was a discreet, as well as an ambitious 
woman, and though she sometimes chafed inwardly at her ori- 
gin, particularly when her mother or uncle became excitcal and 
lapsed into a Londonderry accent, she never had the weakness 
to abjure or deny it. Amongst people of ability or talent, she 
had always found the most sympathy and pleasure, and it was 
with the fortunate of this class she meant to adorn the splendid 
drawing-rooms of West Park. Being handsome and charming 
herself, she soon had tact enough to form a circle at once ele- 
gant and brilliant, ul which she was the acknowledged ccntiH'. 
Fashionable authors and painters, amateur musicians, and parlor 
wits hovered round the burley figure of her bl ushing lord, who, 
proud of the admiration she excited, tried to feel comfortable, 
but found it difficult of achievement. 

•15 


228 


THE MORRISONS. 


Nelly was her sister’s aid-de-camp in all these social cam- 
paigns, and to do her justice, the fortunate bride did her best 
to attract Bess Saunders too, but Bess had behaved in a miserly 
way, she was forced to acknowledge, and had reduced the 
house^d in Burleigh Place to its original footing by dispensing 
with Ellen O’Toole’s services almost immediately after the 
wedding. She had likewise given up the weekly tea-drink- 
ings at which their friends, the Daceys, were standard guests. 
Sometimes she came to West Park with Charlotte Waters, but 
not often ; and Katie, noticing that she wore nothing new on 
these occasions, marvelled secretly to Nell. 

“ You know that Bess was more fond of dress than either of 
us. I can’t understand it. She does not look like horself at 
all.” 

Nell agreed with her sister, but could not explain Bess’s eco- 
nomy. Berkely did not remain at home long at a time now, and 
there was nothing in Burleigh Place that required much exertion. 
Mrs. Morrison was ailing with an obdurate cold, and kept her 
own room. Nell was half the time with her sister, and Bess and 
Uncle Terry were the only two members steadily to be relied on 
of the family. Newport was not then the summer resort of 
fashion, or it might have been dazzled by Katie’s train. As it 
was, Saratoga was determined on for August, and Charlotte 
Waters and Nelly went with her, so did the Daceys, and a half 
dozen of the new circle of West Park. Berkely had taken Uncle 
Terry with him to Ohio, and Mrs. Morrison and Bess, with 
Jenny Brackett, constituted the quiet remnant of the once merry 
family. Bess had got strong and well again, no trace of her 
fever, except her short curling hair remained ; but she had 
become very quiet, and the thirst for excitement that had pos- 
sessed her in the first flush of her trouble, had died out with its 
bitterness. A heavy lull succeeded the storm. They had been 
alone, with the occasional break of a stray visit from some old 
family friend, for nearly a month, when Berkely and Uncle 
Terry returned together. They had b6en in New York too, it 
seemed, and brought news of the young people. Larry and his 
wife had gone to Paris. Mrs. Edmonds, Juliet’s aunt, had made 


A GLIMPSE OF FORTUNE. 


229 


arrangements to go with them, for really Berkely confessed that 
Mr? Larry required care, she looked so ill, but the evening 
before they sailed, her aunt was taken alarmingly ill after supp^^r, 
and although she was partially recovered in the morning, her 
nerves were so shaken, that she gave up the voyage for the 
present. 

“ So they have gone off by themselves,” said Mrs. Morrison, 
whose troubled face showed the uneasiness the mere mention of 
her son’s family caused her. “ And did Larry never write a 
word of good-bye to us, or did he never name coming back ?” 

“They will return in the winter sometime, I think,” said 
Berkely; “and Larry did send messages innumerable to you 
all.” 

He cleared his throat, and looked sideways at Uncle Terry 
before he resumed speaking, which at last he accomplished with 
some effort. 

“ Larry and I, in looking over some old papers, find out, 
aunt, that there was some railroad stock my father and Uncle 
Bernard purchased together. It wasn’t a very hopeful invest- 
ment ; there were no dividends for so long, that they must have 
thrown it by as worthless. That style of affairs didn’t last, you 
see ; it began to pay well five or six years ago, and is now worth 
treble the sum it cost. Larry thought it best to sell out the 
bonds, and the money is here at your disposal, aunt. Uncle 
Terry and I have been delayed a little in settling up, you see, for 
I thought it best you should have the cash, and make what use 
of it you thought best.” 

Mrs. Morrison was slow to take in the startling idea of money 
being at her disposal, and seemed inclined to doubt that Berkely 
had told her the truth, which indeed he had not. 

Tlie statement that these bonds did exist, was correct ; Berkely 
had found them, as he said, amongst his late father’s papers, and 
on his return from China, had given them to Larry as having a 
better knowledge of business in that part of the world than him- 
self. As far as he could see, half of the proceeds belonged to 
the Morrisons, half to himself, and he enjoined on Larry to dis- 
pose of them advantageously, never meaning to claim his portion 


230 


THE MORRISONS. 


from his widowed aunt, with her too scantily provided daughters 
Larry accepted his trust with alacrity, and there the matter 
ended ; for the five months that elapsed between his receipt of 
them from Berkely^s hand till his appearance with his bride in 
Burleigh Place, no mention or allusion to their fate could be 
drawn from him by Berkely’s questions or correspondence. It 
had been this that induced Berkely’s visit to New York at the 
time Mr. Waters^ estate was settling up by his graceless son-iu- 
law. A keen business man, he had retained proof of the trans- 
fer he had made, and in his aunt’s name, demanded the settle- 
ment. Larry had evaded so long now that it was necessary to 
answer his cousin, which he reluctantly did. 

“ He was tired of business,” he said ; ‘‘ in fact he had no head 
for it, and might, in a year or two, break the credit of his father- 
in-law’s name as a merchant, by ill-advised ventures or bungling 
transactions ; to prevent this, he was going to close up the house, 
and selling out was always a sacrifice ; in short, he expected to 
finish with a mere pittance. The stocks his cousin alluded to 
had rightfully belonged to him, as the eldest son ; he had need- 
ed the money, and was not in a position to disburse.” 

Berkely Morrison’s reply to this shuffling argument was the 
production of certain vouchers, which proved his claim to a 
moid;y of the shares, and his right to the funds gained by their 
sale. 

Hunted out of his villainy, Larry compromised by allowing 
Berkely to retain some of his unsaleable stock at a high valua- 
tion, and take bills of doubtful worth for the remainder of the 
sum. Thus it came to pass, that having retained enough of the 
old firm and its employees to carry on the trade of the late Mr. 
Waters on a reduced footing, Berkely had given- his time and 
business knowledge towards its success, and this had been the 
secret of his stay in New York, and his short journeys South and 
West. It had been a singularly profitable investment, but he 
had never meant to make it a personal object, beyond seeing his 
aunt righted, and thwarting the wrong meant her by her dishon- 
est son; so he took the first offer of the clerks engaged in the en- 
terprise, to whom he proposed forming a joint company, and, be- 


A GLIMPSE OF FOKTUNE. 


231 


fore a year had past, was partially bought out by them, and 
entirely resigned all active interest in the concern. 

It was out of the funds thus obtained, with them deficit sup^ 
plied from his own funds, that he made up the tale told to his 
aunt, who was utterly overwhelmed with her unexpected good 
fortune 

“ Well, well, Bess, this is wonderful news ■; isn't it she said, 
drawing a long breath, “Who would ever have though? it ? 
Well, I'm truly glad Larry was prompt ; it shows how a body 
may wrong another in their own thoughts ; I'd never have ac- 
cused him of it." 

“ Has he not a right to a certain part of it ?" asked Bess, 
watching Berkely's face narrowly, “ Larry, I mean." 

“ Why, yes," assented Berkely, slowly ; “ he had a right to a 
certain part, and that part is gone, at least he has taken it. 
This is yours entirely." 

“ Then you’ll lay it out for us, I'm sure, Berkely. I've been 
used to the scrimpering and scraping of saving for years, and I 
fear that anything beyond it would be too much for me." 

Mrs. Morrison, whose only economy was in letting some body 
else contrive for her, looked at her nephew resignedly as she 
spoke, but her eyes sparkled in spite of her efibrts to appear en- 
tirely unconcerned. 

“We will lay it aside for the present, aunt," said Berkely ; 
“ but if you don't have any idea suggest itself to you of a better 
plan. Uncle Terry here, who is a capital judge of property, will 
buy yom a snug little place with it," 

Then transpired a plan for the comfort of the whole family, 
which involved a visit to the Hudson, and a trip among the 
Catskills. Uncle Terry backed Berkely's entreaties so strongly 
that this was determined on, and, at last, Ellen O'Toole was re- 
called, and she and Jenny left in charge of the establishment 
while the family celebrated their good fortune by a summer holi- 
day 


232 


THE MORRISOHS. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
nelly’s dissipation. ^ 

On the first of October they were all back once more, and full 
of th?t life and exuberant recollection that belongs to a happy 
experience. Nelly had been home with Katie almost a week, 
and Mr. Waters came down to learn the state of the family be- 
fore bringing her to Burleigh Place. 

“ For you see, she’s not very strong,” he said, his face intense-, 
ly expressive of tender concern. “ She’s such a dear little thing, 
and she couldn’t keep quiet when she was sick, which leaves her 
rather miserable now, you know.” 

“ Has Nelly been ill ?” Bess asked, breathlessly. 

“ Well, you see, it was a cold, and then, in time, it became a 
fever ; but she’s, such a bright, pleasant little thing she would be 
up, and she don’t like medicine.” 

“ Aunt,” said Bess, distressed at this hearing, “ she must come 
home at once ; she’s been very ill, I know she has.” 

“ That’s what Katie said at once, you know,” cried Joe, ap- 
provingly. “ Says Charlotte, ‘ let me manage her,’ but Katie 
said ‘ no ; Bess understands her best, and she ought to be home.’ ” 

Without allowing Mr. Waters to take breath after his disjoint- 
ed narration, Bess hurried him off for her cousin, and Berkely, 
coming down stairs presently, found her pale and more excited 
than he had seen her for months. 

“ Nelly has had an illness, and a serious one, I’m convinced by 
Mr. Waters’ manner,” she said, hurriedly. “I feel a strange 
presentiment of evil. While we were enjoying all that delicious ' 
scenery and summer weather, she was lying ill of a fever in some 
uimomfurtable hotel.” ; 

“I am very sorry for Nelly,” said Berkely, but he added en- ! 
couragingly : “ She could not have been neglected or uncomfort- j 
able since Miss Waters was one of the party.” 

‘^True, true,” said Bess ; “ I can’t account for the distress I-j 


nelly’s dissipation. 233 

feel about her, but I almost dread to see her face for fear she is 
as ill as I expect.” 

Bess had not long to wait ; in another hour her brother-in-law 
had almost carried T^^elly from the carriage to the house, and laid 
her on the parlor sofa, struggling and laughing, with nothing of 
the invalid about her appearance, except that she had grown 
thin. 

“ It’s so preposterous, Joe,” she cried, “people will think I’m 
bed-ridden, when I’m just as w^ell as I can be. But oh, how glad 
I am to be at home with you all again.” 

“ Not so glad as we are to have you, Nelly,” said Bess, kiss- 
ing her again and again. “ I don’t know why I was alarmed 
about you, for you look almost as well as ever ; but I really felt 
distracted after Mr. Waters left.” 

“ It was enough to startle us all to hear of your lying at death’s 
door in a fever, while we were off jaunting after pleasure,” said 
Mrs. Morrison, wiping her eyes that had overflowed at the meet- 
ing. “ I’ll never consent to your going off in this way again,” 

“ I shall never want to go,” said Nell, softly. 

She threw aside her bonnet and laid back her head upon the 
cushions ; the glow died out of her face, and the light out of her 
eyes ; she struggled painfully an instant fqr breath, and then lay 
still. 

Bess uttered a low cry of terror, and Mrs. Morrison stood 
transfixed in alarm. 

“ Water,” cried Berkely, throwing up the window and draw- 
ing her towards it. “ Water, quick I she has only fainted.” 

“This has happened so often with us, that it don’t seem so 
shocking to me,” said Joe, holding a glass to her lips. “ The 
doctor said it was the weakness occasioned by the fever. She’s 
opening her eyes now.’’ 

As he spoke, Nelly raised herself out of their arms, and then 
fell back again. At last she sat upright and smiled, quite re- 
stored to consciousness. 

“I ought to be ashamed to alarm you all so ; but please don’t 
mind me,” she said ; “it’s a kind of habit, I think, and a very 
silly one.” 


234 


THE MORRISONS. 


Her mother had received too sudden a shock, however, to ral 
ly as quickly as Nelly herself did ; she sank back on an easy 
chair with her eyes fixed painfully on the pale face of her daugh- 
ter, momentarily expecting a relapse. 

Bess, who was scarcely behind her in alarm, conquered it, in 
appearance, and insisted on her cousin^s retiring at once. 

“ I’ll bring you your tea in your own room, Nell,” she said ; 
“ I wa^nt to tell you about all we saw in our Hudson trip, and 
you shall lie and rest and listen till you’re strong again.” 

“I’m strong now, Bess,” persisted Nelly. “You must get 
used to my turning pale ; it’s nothing, mother, really nothing. 
Oh, don’t look so distressed, I beg. Bess, speak to her, do !” 

But the peaceful tenor of poor Mrs. Morrison’s life was broken 
once more, and all Bess’s assurances could not smooth it into 
calmness again, as long as she saw Nelly lying white and strength- 
less before her. 

Bed was the practical idea after all, and Bess continued to 
press the point till her cousin gave way and consented to 
adopt it. 

“ But not away up in the third story where Katie and I used 
to sleep,” she urged ; “ it will seem so lonely there, Bess ; let me 
stay in your room, it’s more cheerful, and I’ll soon get quite 
strong again.” ^ 

To Bess’s room she was taken accordingly, and there Bess sat 
beside her, sewing, talking, or reading, for the next few days. 
I)r. Windell, whom the family had sent for in their first alarm, 
thought it best to make her rest, and it turned out as she had 
said, that a little quiet would restore her, for in a week more she 
was in her old place at the table, as full of life and merriment as 
ever, but not quite so strong or untiring. Her mother, whose 
tender heart had been greatly troubled, rejoiced loudly at her re- 
covery, a!id enjoined constant care and watclifulness ; so it came 
^ to be a matter of course that she should nestle in the lounge 
cushions lazily, while her companions read or worked ; that she 
should b(! visited, amused, petted and fondled, but kept very 
((flier, and asked or t:d<en no where, “so that I begin to think, 
doctor, tiiul the world nas abjured me,” she said one morning to 


NELLY S DISSIPATION. 


235 


Or. Windell, who had just happened to call as he always re- 
marked in his visits to Nell. “ Bess must do something gay at 
Christmas time, or I shall mope to death.” 

“ I saw your sister, Mrs. Waters, leave the door as I drove 
up,” said Doctor Windell ; “ how can you be so ungrateful as to 
mope after a visit from her ?” 

Nelly half rose from her cushions. 

“ That’s it — she’s so aggi’avatingly bright, that she makes me 
discontented here lying in the shade, while she has all the sun- 
shine. Can’t I go up to Dacey’s,'well wrapt up, doctor ? I 
scarcely cough at all now, and am gaining strength every day.” 

“ So much more reason to husband it,” he returned. “ No, 
Miss Nelly, I’ll not consent to your going about this winter ; 
you did a little too much of it, and must atone wholesomely ; 
beside, I’ve no sympathy for you. Here’s Miss Saunders, who 
deserves no such training, and yet is a prisoner on your account. 
All the commiseration I have, is at her service.” 

“ And she don’t need it,” said Nelly, pettishly. “ Bess is 
good for wet weather, and doesn’t demand sunshine to light her 
up at all. I am a poor, contemptible reflector, but Bess has 
an intrinsic light of her own.” 

“Bess is obliged to you, and only wishes you were correct in 
what you say,” answered her cousin ; “ but, doctor, why don’t 
you tell Nelly that she will soon be strong again, and brighter 
than ever ? You physicians deal in the commodity of hope ; you 
should not be so niggardly of it.” 

Dr. Windell settled his chin in his cravat, then felt in his 
pockets for his new memorandum-book ; finally, he took his 
gloves out of his hat, and rose up as he drew them on. 

“ Why should I tell you what I do not certainly know?” he 
said, slowly; and as he spoke, he glanced furtively at his listen 
ers, but immediately changed his tone, and asked, “ Are Mr 
Lawrence Morrison and his wife still abroad ?” 

“ Yes, 1 believe so,” answered Bess. Nelly did not speak ; 
she wns looking at her slender little hands that had become 
veiny in their delicacy these last months. 

“ \Vhat did he mean, Bess ?” she asked, eagerly, as the doctor 


236 


THE MOKEISONS. 


left, a few moments afterwards ; “he said that in an odd tone--» 
what did it mean V’ 

“ Why, Nelly, what a nervous little thing you are laughed 
her cousin ; “ how are people to account for tones ? Dr. Wen- 
dell is an odd sort of man altogether, I think.” 

“ Yes, he is strange,” said Nell, “ decidedly strange ; and I’m 
silly to be struck by his voice or manner, neither of which are 
ever common place.” 

Nelly laughed, and finally confessed that she had felt alarmed 
at his words meaning more than they at first appeared — that she 
was nervous, and didn’t care to have people tease her about her 
sickness, so she would think no more of it. But in spite of her 
determination to this effect, she insisted on walking about the 
rooms and declaring herself stronger, in fact almost as strong as 
she ever was, until she grew white and trembling, and was forced 
to lie down half fainting. Bess regarded her earnestly, and see- 
ing the effect of the doctor’s random words, determined to warn 
him from speaking so thoughtlessly again. The next day Nelly 
was looking almost brilliant ; her cheeks wmre quite aglow, and 
her eyes glittered. 

“ I feel so well that I’m going to sew awhile ; this idling is 
what ruins one’s sp>irits. I’ll need a hood this winter, and so I 
sent Jenny for Adah Parker’s pattern. Do you think this blue 
satin will trim prettily with swan’s down ?” 

“ Yes ; but do you really think you’d better begin to plan 
and bother, dear,” said Bess, earnestly, for the color was feverish 
she saw, and the light not exactly the old joy gleam that used to 
dance in Nelly’s eye. 

“ Pshaw, you dreadfully tiresome people, that you are I” she 
exclaimed, angrily; “ what in the world do you mean by con- 
spiring to persuade me that I’m ill ?” And she threw the silk 
and ribbons she held, down, and turned away, folding her arms 
and biting her lips. Just as Bess stood, distressed and irresolute 
before her cousin, Jenny announced Dr. Windell, and that gen- 
tleman followed his name instantly. 

“ I came in with a story for Miss Nell,” he said, laughing, “a 
strictly nonprofessional story that I found among my old books 


nelly’s dissipation. 


237 


last night ; and by-the-bye,” he added, taking notice of Nelly’s 
excitement, “I meant to mention something else. You were 
saying that these pretty gilt shades were out of repair, and that 
you didn’t want the room disturbed by workmen, since you make 
it your morning lounge. Now I know the best workman, and 
the quietest, least troublesome fellow alive, that will do it splen- 
didly for you ; and by-the-bye, your cousin, Mr. Morrison, knows 
him too. Barnes is his name. Shall I send him when I see 
him ?” 

“No, don’t, pray. I protest against that ill-shapen creature 
we saw at Berkely’s houses last spring,” said Nell. “ I’m blue 
enough now, and don’t want to be quite distracted.” 

Dr. Windell waved Nell’s objection aside with his glove. 

“ The man’s figure, I don’t recommend ; I only spoke of his 
skill and unpresuming pleasantness. Shall I send him,* Miss 
Saunders ?” 

“ If you will be so kind, doctor ; I hope to have the house put 
in order before Nelly gets strong enough to crowd it with com- 
pany; and there are a great many such things to be done.” 

Nelly laughed and brightened. “ I shall learn to work at 
everything when I am well,” she said. “ I’m so sated with idle- 
ness now. Yes, doctor, pray send Barnes. I shall like to see 
him busy.” 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 

[ UNCLE terry’s DREAM. 

I 

Do you know, Berkely, it’s a year to-night since you came 
home ?” said Nell, as they sat down to tea. “ If you have for- 
gotten it, Bess hasn’t, as you see by the extraordinary splendor 
of our arrangements.” 

Berkely glanced gratefully towards Bess. 

“ I didn’t expect you, who were a happy family then, to recall 


238 


THE MORRISONS. 


it SO kindly,” he said ; “ but I have good cause to think ol it 
thankfully.” 

“I declare, Berkely, your coming was a necessity ; we li\ed 
without you before, because we did not know what a dear fellow 
you were ; but now, when I look back, I wonder how we could 
have existed at all, we are so dependent on you. Look at 
Katie’s place, it never seemed so empty before — did it, Bess ?” 

“ If Katie had thought what night it was, she’d have been 
here, I warrant,” said her mother. 

“No, Peggy,” said Uncle Terry, “for I saw her this morn- 
ing, and she told me it was her ‘ evening.’ For a minute, I 
thought among other devices that came with her good fortune, 
she had contrived to appropriate one of seven nights of the week 
to her sole use ; but it’s just a way she has of saying that herself 
and her parlors will be on dress parade to-night.” 

“ Let us be merry somehow,” cried Nell, impulsively ; “ a good 
home-style of merriment, such as we used to have before. Katie’s 
elegance took the heart out of it. Oh, why can’t we be as gay 
as we used to ?” 

Uncle Terry turned round kindly, and with a faint tone of 
sadness in his voice, said : 

“ Too much sun parches anything, and we’ve had a little trou- 
ble, dear, that we’ll find refreshing by-and-bye. Larry and his 
wife are back in New York, I forgot to tell you all.” 

“ How did you know ?” they cried together. 

“ Katie’s husband saw the names in the list of arrivals, and 
has written to inquire, she told me. I meant to tell you as I 
came in, but it takes but little to turn things out of my head 
these times.” 

“ I shall be glad to hear of Juliet’s health,” said Bess. “ They 
made a short stay, did they not ?” 

“ So it seems,” said Mrs. Morrison : “ but I’ve given up 
Larry ; not a word did we get from him from the time he left 

till MOW.” 

“ Larry never was a great letter writer,” said Uncle Terry, 
sentcntiously ; “ that’s a small fault, and I wisli it was his only 


UNCLE terry’s DREAM. 


239 


Mrs. Morrison siglied. 

“ It must have been Larry’s luck to encounter temptations in 
life,” she said, “ for he was naturally a fine lad ; his marrying as 
he did was the worst thing of all.” 

Nelly roused herself into a shadow of her old impetuosity and 
feeling. 

“ Mother,” she cried, “ will you never learn to be just to that 
poor girl I She is more to be pitied than any woman I ever 
saw in all my life, for she truly loved Larry and married him 
in the face of warning and counsel, just out of disinterested 
folly.” 

“ Folly it was, and folly it will be,” said her mother ; “ as for 
the property, there ’ll be little of that left shortly, from what I 
hear ; and as for her, Larry shows plain enough it was & fancy 
he soon got over.” 

“Were we going to be particularly pleasant this evening in 
honor of the anniversary ?” asked Bess. “If we were, we’ve 
made a bad beginning. Larry’s domestic happiness is the most 
cheerless subject I know of.” 

“ So it is, Bess, as you would say if you’d been there last 
Christmas,” said Nelly, sighing. “ I think I got such a shock 
then that I’ve never enjoyed life really since.” 

“ You made a desperate effort, then, during the summer, Nell,” 
said Uncle Terry. “ You and Katie lived so hard with your 
balls and routs among the Southern gentry at Saratoga, that 
you’re likely to pay up for it for some time to come.” 

“ It wasn’t real pleasure, either,” said Nell, despondingly. “ I 
shouldn’t care so much if I .had really enjoyed it ; but it was 
nothing like our old fun before Larry went away, or Katie had 
turned ambitious. O Bess,” she added, sighing, “ let us do 
something pleasant at Christmas, to get up our spirits 1” 

“ Let us sit round the grate with nuts and apples, and tell sto- 
ries to-night,” said Berkely. “ There’s a wind rising out of doors, 
and just enough of what Ellen calls a sougA going round the 
house to make ghost stories agreeable.” 

Uncle Terry drew his chair forward, and settled himself in it 
with a strong sense of relish in the proposition. 


240 


TIIE MORRISONS. 


“ I’ll tell you a dream I had, to begin with,” said he ; “ it 
was strong enough on my mind till I came down stairs this 
morning, and IVe nerer thought of it from that till this.” 

“It isn’t dreary or fearful, is it, uncle ?” asked Nelly, shud- 
dering slightly at the possibility. 

“ No, I cannot say that it was to me, Nell,” he said, con- 
sidering a little ; “ but you were in it, too, now that I think 
of it. 

“ You see, I’ve given up my book late at night, or I might 
have thought it was my reading ; anyhow, it was odd to me, for 
I’m no dreamer. I thought that I was hobbling along on my 
cane through a road white with snow, and very heavy walking 
on that account ; all along before me rolled a wide black river, 
and beyond it were the fields of my father’s place in County 
Derry, looking as I’ve seen them in early June, gay with sham- 
rock blossoms, white and red. If you believe me, Peggy, I never 
smelt the shrubs and hawthorns plainer than I did then, as a 
sweet, still wind seemed to blow over the water and bring it to 
me ; yet everywhere round where I was it was chill, bitter wea- 
ther. It seemed to get harder and harder to travel, and I was 
losing my strength so that I was almost gone, when suddenly I 
came to a spot where the river shrivelled into a tiny brook, like 
the run we boys used to jump over on our way to scliool. In an 
instant I stepped over it, and was at home in the old place, that 
looked just as I remember it, nearly sixty years ago ; but what 
struck me as strange was this : my sister Rose, that died when I 
was a boy of fifteen, was the first to meet me, and though, to tell 
you the truth, I had forgotten every look of her face, I knew 
her the instant I saw her, and she seemed very familiar to me ; 
so did they all, there were scores of them whose very names I’d 
forgotten, but who all came ba«k to me, a^ slie had demo, when 
I saw them.” 

“ How odd. Uncle Terry,” said Nell, who had been listening 
intently ; “ you said I was in your dream : how was it ?” 

“Why I can’t rightly say,” said the old man, considering ; 
“ but I think it was just before I awoke, for it was the last thing 
on my mind when I opened my eyes. I was thinking of Peggy, 


UNCL?: terry’s dream. 


241 


and vrishing she could be there, to talk witli your father, for, 
Peggy dear, Bernard was there just himself, as plain as eyer you 
saw him, when I saw Nelly coming to me with a bunch of snow- 
drops in her hand, and my heart gave such a leap for joy, that I 
woke up with it. It is strange about the snowdrops, for I’ve 
never taken notice of one since I used to turn them over in the 
fields when I ran along beside Paddy Rourke at the plough. It 
was queer altogether, for I dou’t bring back these old things 
readily.” 

“ Did you see any one you haven’t named. Uncle Terrence ?” 
asked Mrs. Morrison, solemnly. 

“ Yes, Peggy,” he answered, in the same tone ; “ she came 
down the lawn after Rose, and pointed at the black stone that 
stood in the highway as she came, and smiled.” 

“ Then, Terrence Blake, it was in another world you were. 
What nearer picture can we draw of heaven than to liken it to 
our old home ? and it was that your mind made it. Poor Winnie 
Dawson 1 there’s fifty years’ grass on her grave now. She was 
your uncle’s sweetheart, children, and was killed by a fall from 
the back of a wild colt of my father’s, on that same stone, a week 
before the wedding day ‘ was to be.’ ” 

A strange flush of an instant’s life died on the withered cheek 
of the old man as his niece spoke. She continued : 

“ But that stone was taken up long, long ago ; I never mind 
to see it, though I’ve often been shown where it stood. It was 
a dream, but a strange one, uncle — and to think that Nelly 
should be in it I” 

She leaned over and took up her daughter’s slender hand in 
hers, the hand that Uncle Terry had seen filled with snowdrops, 
and held it firmly in both her own, as if she would detain her, 
while large tears gathered in her troubled eyes. 


242 


THE MORRISONS. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

BARNES^ CONFESSION OF FAITH. 

When Nelly came down next morning, she found one corner 
of the dining-room devoted to Barnes and his tools ; he was al- 
ready busy in his repairs, singing to himself softly as he worked. 
His voice was singularly melodious and full, and so when he 
stopped suddenly at sight of her, Nelly begged him to go on by 
all means. 

For, you know. I’m a sort of invalid, Mr. Barnes, and 
not in the way of going to concerts or hearing new music,” she 
said. 

“ Mine is very old music; Miss Morrison,” Barnes replied ; “ it^s 
as old as the century, I think.” 

“Old songs are often the best,” said Nelly, settling herself in 
the sofa corner. “ Jenny, bring my chocolate here, please, and 
tell Miss Bess that I don’t want anything else.” 

As she sipped it, slowly, she glanced at the little man intent 
on his work, and felt that she had wronged him in saying he was 
frightful. His face was sad only in its pallor ; brighter, happier 
eyes than he turned toward her when she spoke* Nelly had never 
seen, and when he smiled, she thought the action made him 
beautiful. 

“Do you like such work as this, Mr. Barnes?” she asked. 
“ You seem to do it so tastefully, that I imagine you must be 
fond of it.” 

“ Yes,” he said, laughing ; “ I think this sort of cobbling and 
mending is a passion with me, though I remember the time when 
all work was a dreadful task.’ But after my accident. Miss, it 
was for years that such as this was all I could do, and part 
of it I did lying on my bacl;^ in bed, for I was a long time 
there.” 

“ That was terribly tiresome, was it not ?” asked Nell, with a 
sympathetic shudder. 


BAENES’ CONFESSION OF FAITH. 


243 


“ At first it was worse than tiresome, it was frightful,” he 
said, quietly smoothing the surface of the shade he was paint- 
ing on a board on his knees. “ You know people cannot learn 
to be contented with such a figure as I have in a day.” 

Nelly sate up and looked at him intently. 

“ Can they ever learn to be content with what is dreadful 
When it is inevitable, they sink into apathy, I suppose ; but that 
is not contentment.” 

“ I did not,” said Barnes. “ I do not understand apathy ex- 
cept as a reaction to some painful excitement that will awake 
to agony and suffering again. I wanted to die, and prayed and 
hoped for that only. When I found I was to live, I fought the 
battle out in my own soul, and thought I had conquered a dozen 
times, to find the sting, only dormant for awhile, aroused again 
in all its bitterness.” 

His sweet smile, and the gentle glance with which he con- 
sulted her face, to see if the theme were really as interesting to 
her as her voice seemed to imply, held no trace of the agony of 
such a struggle, and Nelly, feeling that it was over, did not shrink 
from further questioning. 

“ How did you become so cheerful ? Pray tell me if it is not 
painful to you,” she added, kindly. 

“Not through my own philosophy or goodness,” he answered, 
laughing, “ though I see you think so ; but through a medicine 
old as the earth itself — the love of Him who made it. I had 
thought myself, after three long years of chafing at my own 
folly, and struggling with my own regrets, an altered man iu 
mind as well as body. And I was in one sense ; I could 
be calm and ’think almost quietly of the desolate life before 
me, and laugh bitterly at the changes a hump could make 
in human truth and love ; but that was not a wholesome 
mind or heart, although I thought it was my portion to bear 
for life.” 

“ Had you no sympathy or pleasure in others and their hopes 
and delights ?” • 

Nelly, with her houd upon her heart, questioned the detormed 
10 


244 


THE MORRISONS. 


workman in the tone of one who had felt the pain she strove to 
analyze. 

“ Did you ever, starting out upon a journey, wonder at those 
you i)assed upon the way, busy with toils and cares, and joys 
that seemed strangely worthless and silly to you, whose mind 
was bent upon the road ? Well,” said the hump-back, “ it was 
so with me. I had a dreamy way before me, and wondered at 
others stopping for rest or pleasure. I neither loved nor hated 
mankind, but I shrunk from it, at every turn.” 

“ You do not now,” said Neil. 

‘‘ Oh, no ; I passed that dreariest of all earthly stages long, 

long ago. A girl died in the house where I was lodging ; she 

was a very poor seamstress, who, being no longer able to work, 
came home to die in the little room next to mine. Some ladies 
helped her, but she had no nurse except the woman’s daughter 
who kept the house, and she could only spare her an hour or two 
in the day. Well, it fell out, you see, that we were thrown 

together, for I could not sleep well then, and hearing her sigh 

in the night, I would tap at her door, and speak to her, and she 
would answer me cheerfully always. It was a rainy fortnight, 
when I had little out-door work to do, and so I saw her every 
day before she died. She met the summons very sweetly and 
peacefully at last. Just before she closed her eyes, she said, 

‘ Good bye ; when I see you again, Barnes, you will be so 
changed, I shall only know you by your eyes.’ There, Miss Mor- 
rison, you have the secret of my happiness. I had thought her 
a dear patient little woman, who having little to live for, would 
be glad to die, as I would have been at any time these yeai\9 
past ; but as she never did look at me on this earth again, 1 
thought of her words often and often, till their meaning drove 
me to a worn little Testament she had given me as a good-bye 
token. It was hers as a Sunday-school scholar, and had her name 
■written in her teacher’s hand nearly twenty years before. As I 
read, it came to me to know that this world was a drop of 
water in the sea of eternity — that God had afflicted men of noble 
minds, who had risen from the ashes of their desolation, bright 


OHAKLOTTE S PEOTEST. 


245 


with the light of a purified nature ; whilst I was grovelling deep 
in its darkness, striving to blind myself with the dust I was scat- 
tering round me. Oh, Miss Morrison, I half forget the time — 
so happy have been my later years — when I did not bless God 
for marking out my path so clearly with this same marring hump 
of mine. It has made my life a humble, quiet one, so free from 
stormy trouble, pain, or disappointment. I had but one battle 
to fight, while so many carry the warfare through from day to 
day, and fall at last, scarcely hoping for peace.” 

“ It is a little place this world, Barnes,” said Nelly, solemnly, 
“ yet it holds all my hope and faith, and trust and light.” 

“ You, dear Miss,” he said, “ have every reason to love it, and 
the God who has made it so bright for you, and you must love 
Him too.” 

“ It is passing away from me, Barnes,” she said, shuddering, 
as the words fell from her lips. “ Oh, I know it is passing 
away from me, and yet I cling to it, with my whole soul 1” 


CHAPTEK, XXX. 
charlotte’s protest. 

After this day, Bess and Berkely spoke to each other of the 
odd fancy Nelly had taken for the good-humored Jack of all 
trades, who put up curtains, mended ornaments, retouched pic- 
tures, and regilt their frames with equal aptitude. He was work- 
ing in one room or the other of the house for nearly a week, and 
Nelly followed him with her pillows, and took up her place where 
she could lie with half-closed eyes, and hear him sing a grand 
old hymn, written, as he told her, by a cobbler fifty years ago. 
It was his favorite, and Nelly listened to the strange, stormy 
life of its author, Thomas Olivers, as Barnes dwelt on- it raptur- 
ously, imparting to his pale listener, a shadow of his overflowing 
enthusiasm ; for Barnes, from the depths of his gloomy pit of 


246 


THE MORRISONS. 


despondence, had risen into no less ardent a light of faith than 
Methodism. “ The God of Abraham praise !’' repeated Nelly, 
slowly. “ I want to learn it, Barnes ; some time I may sing it 
as you do.” 

Barnes smiled. 

“ Oh, Miss Nelly,” he said, “ you are laughing at me, for I 
know neither time nor measure, but just sing from my heart.” 

“ That’s it,” she said, “ that’s what I mean ; I will sing it if I 
can ever sing it, from my heart.” 

Nelly had never talked to any one as she did to her cousin’s 
little agent, among whose themes an intense admiration for his 
employer was not the least. lie had done good so quietly, that 
Nelly, in her shallow penetration, had never suspected him of it, 
but she now listened with a new delight. 

Oh, Bess, people are so much better than we think them,” 
she said, one night as she sat waiting for the powder her cousin 
was mixing to insure her a good rest. 

“ You’ve got a pleasant employment lately, Nelly dear,” said 
Bess, fondly, “discovering people’s virtues, and dwelling on 
the reasons you have for being grateful ; if you go on, you’ll 
make us all ashamed of ourselves for not being better than we 
arc.” 


“ You’re good, Bess, because it’s your nature, you know,” said 
Nell, with her old air of accounting for things easily ; “ but 
Berkely, for it’s of him I’m thinking, he’s very, very good. I 
always thought and knew he was good to us ; but people arc 
kind to relations, as a matter of course ; this is something more. 
Y"ou should have heard Barnes tell the story of some families in 
‘ Fighting Court.’ Yes, isn’t that an odd name !” she said, laugh- 
ing, as she noticed Bess look astonished. 

“ Fighting Court !” repeated Bass. 

“It was ‘Belvidera Court,’ Barnes says,” continued Nell, 
“ but took its new name from the energy of its occupants in 
thrashing each other. The vromen were a fearful set of half-clad 
desperadoes, far worse than the men, I think ; and do you know, 
Berkely has been a sort of missionary, giving time and thought,'^ 
and money, towards reforming them, sometimes with no hope of 




CIIARLOTrE’s PROTEST. • 247 

success, and but little encouragement, Barnes says, but always 
earnestly and devotedly for the right’s sake.” 

“ I could hear nothing noble of your Cousin Berkely that 
would seem new to me, Nelly,” said Bess, quietly; “but I think 
Barnes has been the true missionary; indeed, Mr. Morrison told 
me of what he had done. There was a girl to whom he was 
greatly attached before his illness, who coolly deserted him, and 
married his only living relative, a young brother, who was de- 
pendent on Barnes, being his apprentice, I think. Well, whatever 
the poor fellow felt, he never visited it on either ; but when, by 
his useful, industrious life, he began to be independent once more, 
he helped them to begin business, and all that. Two years ago, 
the brother died, leaving a widow with four children ; and there 
are five reasons why Barnes, not content with his salary as 
Berkely’s agent, takes every job he can secure, and works so 
hard, late and early.” 

“ I would not, could not, be so forgiving,” said Ndlv, pas- 
sionately. “ What a callous wretch she must be to take favors 
from the hand she has bitten. But,” she added, thoughtfully, 
“ Barnes is not like me, and that is why he sings ‘ The God of 
Abraham praise ’ as he does, I suppose.” 

Barnes came back again a mouth later. Berkely had bought 
some old prints that he wanted colored. They represented Chi- 
nese scenes, and his old life there was fading out of his memory, 
so that half reluctant to lose the wholesome recollection of toil 
and struggle, he had seized this way of bringing it back. 
Barnes, who might have been a successful artist if he had been 
born in that sphere where taste or ability is consulted in the 
choice of occupation, did capitally under direction, and it being 
dreary, boisterous weather out of doors, the whole family spent 
many a wintery afternoon consulting over colors, and advising 
Berkely, whose idea of foliage was of the greenest and most un- 
varying description. 

Nelly was very, very quiet in these days, and seldom, if ever, 
mentioned the possibility of going out, or alluded to the gay 
world she knew was gathering round Katie in her winter soirees. 
Charlotte Waters came to stay a week in Burleigh Place, but 


248 


THE MOERTSONS. 


Nelly shrunk from her hearty pleasantries, and was only very 
quiet. Barnes brought back more life and animation than they 
had seen her face wear for weeks. Listening to his singing 
seemed her highest ideal of pleasure now, and his stories of early 
itinerants who were beaten, abused and pelted as they preached, 
were the themes that charmed her most. 

“ Don’t you find your cousin greatly changed ?” asked Char- 
lotte of Berkely, a few days before Christmas. She was going 
home next day to her “ bachelor quarters,” where they were all 
to come on Christmas Eve, Nelly and all. Dr. Winded had said, 
and he was to be one of the party. 

Berkely answered slowly. 

“ Changed, yes, certainly ; but then she has had a long drag- 
ging illness that would naturally change any one.” 

“ Pshaw, you know what I mean, Mr. Morrison,” said Char- 
lotte, impatiently. “ I mean changed in strength of mind, 
courage, spirit, all that. As for her health, we all can see what 
that has left her ; but her mind is what I mean. For instance, 
that man Barnes, you know, why does she cling to him ?” 

Berkely’s large grey eyes darkened till they were almost black, 
as he looked sadly and earnestly at the speaker. 

“ Why does she keep her hand upon her heart from time to 
time ? Why does she look at her transparent hands or measure 
her shrinking waist ? Oh, Miss Waters, it’s a sad, sad story to 
me, sometimes more than I can bear to watch, as it draws 
towards its close.” 

“ You mean,” said Charlotte, “ she knows that she may not 
live long, and likes to talk with those who speak of church mat- 
ters ; but why not have a proper clergyman, one of her own 
belief ? I don’t like the selection.” 

“ She has begun to tread in the darkening path that we mus 
all go through in time ; if she has found a staff to lean on, whicl 
of us, thinking we can offer a smoother, comelier one, dare snatch 
t from her, and recommend ours ? Not I ; before God, I am 
thankful that she has found any help, and would no more attempt 
to question its fitness, than I would read her heart in its dreary 
struggle with her fate.” 


charlotte’s protest. 


249 


Charlotte was silent a little while. 

“ I suppose you know the family hjive returned from Paris ?” 
she said, at length. 

“Yes, Mr. Waters told me so,” said Berkely, “and that 
Mrs. Edmunds writes in great distress about Mrs. Morrison, 
whom she is surprised to find looking so ill.” 

“ I would have gone to New York a month ago, in fact just 
as soon as I heard of her arrival, but for a little scene I had with 
Juliet as a bride. I may as well mention it, for it may seem odd 
to you that I don’t speak more of my brother’s orphan child. 
It was on our first meeting that she told me with pride and tri- 
umph how she had married her beautiful scamp in the teeth of 
opposition and advice. She was so joyous about the heart- 
sting I felt her choice had given her old father, that looking at 
her shallow love, I was angry with her, and told her she would 
some time repent what she had done. She was insulted, as she 
should have been, for she was all faith and trust then ; but 
though she seemed to forget it, it was in her mind when she 
came back from the South, with some knowledge of its meaning, 
and she shrunk from me, I could see, as one who would triumph 
over her in her misery.” 

Berkely sighed and bit his lips. It was a sore subject with 
him, that marriage of which he had been the harbinger. 

“ So, no one is going to see Mrs. Morrison ?” he asked. 

“ I wish Katie would, though I acknowledge it would be Job’s 
comfort,” returned Charlotte. “ Miss Saunders is the right per- 
son, but she wouldn’t leave her cousin, I suppose.” 

“ I suppose not,” repeated Berkely. 


960 


THE MOERISON8. 


CHAPTER XXXI 

ALL TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 

So Charlotte Waters went away to expect her friends as 
Christmas guests ; but they did not go to her. A hasty note 
from Mrs. Morrison explained the reason. Larry had come home 
for a few days, and would prefer spending the time in the old 
house, and hoped she would join them ; which, being an old- 
fashioned sort of body, with but little ceremony about her, she 
cordially did. A fruit cake and some jellies, in which she par- 
ticularly prided herself, had preceded her arrival by several hours, 
so the Morrison repast was swelled in grandeur by the delicacies 
provided for their delectation at their guest’s table. 

Larry looked pale and haggard. He had come in upon them 
unannounced on the morning of Christmas Eve, and vowing that 
there never was such a dreary thing as a family Christmasing, 
acknowledged that he had sent J uliet to her aunt Edmunds, and 
made his escape home to get rid of being bored. 

“ What was the matter with Nell ?” he queried. But before 
Bess could answer that she was something of an invalid now, he 
flew off to the delights of traveling, and a Paris winter, if it had 
not been for the annoyance of Juliet’s nervousness. 

“ It actually amounts to insanity, you know,” he went on, 
“ and is such a desperate bore, that I think I shall go deranged 
myself under it.” 

“ I scarcely ever saw a sweeter, happier creature than she was 
when you first brought her here,” said Nelly. “Her present 
change is a poor compliment to your training.” 

“ Yes, if a man were accountable for the sick fancies of a wo- 
man determinedly opposed to being cheerful,” he answered, laugh- 
ing. “ But I’m used to reproaches, Nell, and have taken Job’s 
degree in living martyrdom ; so what you say won’t worry me 
much.” 

“ Nothing ever did worry you, Larry, except an interference 
with some personal comfort of your own,” said his sister, quietly. 


ALL TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 


251 


“What did you say was the matter with Nelly?” asked 
Larry, turning to his mother. “ I think I discover some fea- 
tures of Juliet’s complaint in her. I hope not, for it is a detest- 
able one, I think.” 

“ Is there a pleasant way of living in hired rooms in Paris, 
Larry ?” asked Berkely. 

“ Oh, pleasant enough ; nothing luxurious, you know, bare 
walls and floors waxed and polished ; but plenty of gayety and 
excitement, if one is allowed to enjoy it. I shall go back, I 
think, by-and-bye.” 

“ Did your wife enjoy it too ?” asked Bess. 

“ I think not,” he answered. “ Juliet’s health is so broken, 
she has but little chance of pleasure anywhere. Surrounded by 
every attraction to amusement and enjoyment, we passed our 
time like hermits on her account.” 

“ Do you know, Berkely,” said Dncle Terry, “I would like to 
cross the water myself ? I wish the doctor would say it was 
necessary for Nelly’s health, and we would all start off together 
in fine style.” 

“ You, Dncle Terry !” said Larry, laughing. “ You go to 
Paris I Why the sea would do away with you before you were 
half way over.” 

“ Never fear,” said Dncle Terry, testily. “If it spared you, 
it would be more than tender to me.” 

Struck thus suddenly with the idea of traveling, Dncle Terry 
brightened and became, after Charlotte Waters’ arrival, the life 
ef the company. He had been rather drooping lately, and Mrs. 
Morrison, who trgly loved her uncle, rejoiced greatly in his rally- 
ing spirits. After awhile, Mr. Joseph Waters and his wife joined 
them. Katie — who had improved wonderfully, if to gain the 
style and manner of an empress be an improvement to an already 
handsome woman of quiet domestic education — was gracious an 
charming, being, as Nelly used to say, in a captivating mood. 

The- parlors, after tea, were brilliantly lighted as of old. 
Berkely carried some pillows into a corner of the softest sofa, and 
Nelly ensconced herself there comfortably. 

“ Do you know,” she cried, “ this night last year we had our 




THE MORRISONS. 


famous tableaux ? I can just see nude aiul Berkely tuggin|nf 
away at the curtain, and Bess flying round, with a powder puff 
in one hand and a cake of India ink in the other, getting up the 
faces. Oh dear, oh dear, what fun we had ; but oh, how changed 
we all look I” 

She glanced around. Her mother sat on an easy-chair be- 
ween Larry and Uncle Terry. Charlotte Waters was rocking 
backwards and forwards in her mourning dress, just where the 
stage had been, and Katie had the air and style of not belonging 
to the house in her every motion and word. Bess was not the 
Bess of the year before. In her heart and soul she was far, far 
happier than she had been then ; but the touch of sadness, the 
sense of coming grief, that hung over her now, tinged her face, 
and made it less bright than it had been in that dreary past. 

“ Yes, Bess, and you donT look as handsome as you used to,^ 
continued Nelly, critically ; “you look sort of worn and broker 
down. Don’t she, Katie 

“ People’s ages don’t stand still, you know, Nell,” said Katie, 
quietly. “ Bess is a year older than she was then.” 

“ A year ! what’s a year I” said Nelly, dreamily. “ It used 
to be nothing ; now, it is too much.” 

“ It would be odd if we should all spend our next winter in 
Paris, wouldn!t it, Peggy ?” said Uncle Terry, still intent on the 
idea of traveling. “ It would be like one of my old favorite 
books — to see the French court, and gardens, and statues, and 
pictures, and all that.” 

“Well, uncle, since you’re so adventurous, it will seem cow- 
ardly in me to stand back ; but I’m greatly afraid of the sea, as 
you know.” 

“ But it’s only for a week or two,” urged the old man ; “ no- 
thing like the lengthened voyage it was when we came over from 
home ; and then we could take a look at the old place. Dear 
me, but I would like that well.” 

“ So would I, uncle ; no one would like it better than my- 
self.” 

“ I think we’ll make the tour in Spring, and then you can 
keep our quai’ters in Paris for us, when we go to Borne and 


ALL TOGLTIIRR ONCE MORE. 


253 


Venice/' said Katie. “ Do carry out your plan, uncle ; it will 
be of infinite advantage to the whole family, in polishing them 
up.” 

Nelly laughed her clear old ringing laugh. 

“ Polishing us up ! Oh, Bessie, do you hear ? It will cer- 
tainly be too much for me, sooner or later, Katie, your empty 
airs. You poor dear girl you, keep your polish in West Park, 
and only bring your heart to Burleigh Place. The shine and 
lacquer is all very pretty to overcome strangers with, but I knew 
you when you were an innocent little thing, and we both used to 
eat the mint drops Uncle Terry bought us, off one paper, and 
Larry, the great rough fellow, he used to come behind us and 
snatch his handful.” 

“Well, that I may never sin!” cried Uncle Terry, “but I 
can see you two as clear before me as the day itself, in white 
dimity slips, tied up with buff ribbons — and you, Bess, I can 
bring you back, a tall slip of a girl, with your long yellow curls 
hanging over your black dress, hiding your face on your aunt's 
shoulder if a body looked at you. Poor child 1 it took a long 
while to bring her round after her trouble ; didn't it, Peggy ?” 

Mrs. Morrison's only answer was to draw the stately woman 
towards her, as she had so often drawn the child, and smooth 
the beautiful head she had cherished, when covered with childish 
curls. 

“ But we're not going to let the night go by without a bit of 
fun ; let us have a game at forfeits. It’ll harm none of you to 
be gay, will it, now ?” 

Uncle Terry's suggestion met with such favor, that it was a.t 
once adopted, especially by Nelly, who, not being able to exert 
herself, volunteered to sell pawns. 

While they were collecting them. Dr. Dacey and his two 
daughters came in, and family reminiscences being lost in this ad- 
dition to their circle, they began to have a thoroughly pleasant 
evening. Mr. Waters was perhaps the most delighted of them 
all ; not in the least enjoying the life he was contented for his 
wile’s pleasure to lead, he plunged into unceremonious merry- 
making with his whole heart, and was so ready with grotesque 


254 


THE MORRISONS. 


suggestions to Nelly, when her invention of absurd feats for the 
forfeitrpayers to perform gave out, that it was absolutely neces- 
sary for his wife to look steadily at him once or twice during the 
evening, to restrain his hilarity. 

Uncle Terry was ordered to imitate a knight tilting in the lists, 
for Besses favor ; Larry, his opposing warrior, charged on him 
astride a cane ; and Katie was obliged, by the rules of the game, 
to give the opening steps of an Irish jig in company with Dr. 
Dacey, and as she was a thoroughly good dancer, it was really 
ci» arming to see her queenly dignity unbend with the enjoyment 
of the moment. 

“Ha, ha, ha I” laughed Mr. Waters, uproariously, “that is 
worth seeing. 0 Katie, finish it, do ; I’d rather look at such 
figures, than all the waltzing and quadrilfing we have at our 
house.” 

“ Joseph,” said his wife, almost sternly, “ I shall give up the 
game if you are so coarse. Your ha-haing equals Nellie’s.” 

“ Come, children,” cried Uncle Terry, “ let us finish with 
blindman’s buff. Tie this round my eyes, Bess, and see if I 
don’t scatter you all.” 

No wonder Mrs. Morrison held up her hands in amazement at 
the scene that followed. The old man seemed to have forgotten 
his years, and to have become as lithe and nimble as a youth. 
Springing from side to side, to avoid his grasp, the young people 
sped around the rooms like tops. Nellie^Iaughed and clapped her 
hands. * 

“ Here, uncle I” she would scream,- “ this way, and you will 
catch Bess ; Kate’s by the piano ; there’s Larry under your 
hand I Look out, be quick ; here they are I” 

But they eluded the energetic turnings and twistings of the 
old gentleman, and growing bolder, even tweaked him by the 
beard, pulled his gown, and stole his snuff-box, which threw him 
into mimic rage and frenzy. 

At last, he sank back on the sofa, exhausted ; and, pulling his 
handkerchief from his eyes, wiped the perspiration away, that 
sprang thick over his brow. 

“ ifthis was serving my Maker, I would think it hard work,” 


255 


UNCLE teeny’s DEEAM IS EE AD. 

he said. “ Bess, is there anything for us to refresh ourselves 
with ?” 

“Supper’s waiting,” answered Jenny, opportunely, and they 
all went out together. 

At the head of the table was a great punch-bowl, full of a 
beverage compounded after Uncie Terry’s recipe. 

“ Yule punch, that wouldn’t harm man or babe,” he said ; 
“ and was just the making of a body on a cold night.” 

Under his wife’s eye, Joseph waived the punch aside, for Katie 
declared it vulgar ; but Uncle Terry stood up authoritatively, 
and commanded all of them to fill up and pledge him. 

“ The Lord only, that holds our lives in the hollow of Jfis 
hand, knows when we will all meet again ; this is wishing that 
He may guard and guide us in all our ways, and grant that if 
we never stand together face to face again, there may be a. 
blessed hope of our all being gathered in one family in heaven.” 

They all rose and emptied the little glasses, except Nelly; she 
watched Uncle Terry’s face, and scarcely touched hers. The 
great hall clock struck twelve slowly and distinctly, 

“ It’s Christmas morning,” said Mrs. Morrison. “ Lord bless 
you all, and a merry Christmas and a happy New Year to 
you.” 

“Wait till daylight before you wish me mine, Peggy,” said 
Uncle Terry, “ for someway I’m that slow of faith, that I never 
can think it’s morning till I see the light of the sun.” 

“ I’ll be at your door bright and early with your coifee, 
uncle,” cried Bess, laughing. “ So you may expect a hearty one 
from me.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

UNCLE terry’s DREAM IS READ. 

The night before had been a busy one outside, and Bess, being 
up early on Christmas morning, found the snow lying high on the 


THE MORRISONS. 


! 


25 (> 


window-sills and ornamental fence-tops. Yet the sun shone so j 
cheerily in its brilliant reflection, that it was, after all, a plea- v 
sant Christmas morning, i 

“ Let us have good fires,” she said to Ellen O’Toole, who J 
came in from brushing up the parlor ; “ we are likely to be ; 
home all day, and will need the rooms warm.” 

Mr. Lawrence is come down, ma’am,” returned Ellen. | 
“ Will I set on the breakfast ?” J 

“ Give me uncle’s coffee first, and then ring the bell,” said ^ 
Bess, hurrying up to the old man’s turret chamber, as he styled ■' 
his garret. As she came up stairs, Berkely left his room, and ^ 
standing in the hall, wished her a happy Christmas. v 

“I’ll stay here till you open IT ncle Terry’s door, and then 
roar my good wishes up to him,” he continued, ^ 

“ He may be lazy after his late dissipation,” Bess returned, J 
from the landing near his door. 

“ No, he’s up ; wait a moment,” she added, and went in. | 

Berkely did wait, and presently a strange cry of indescribable I 
dread, smothered, it seemed, by a sudden effort of self-control, 
smote on his ear. He bounded up the stairs, and in another f 
instant entered the darkened room, whose curtains were closely j 
drawn, and where a lamp, with the oil almost exhausted, made i 
a faint, flickering light, at war with a strong gleam of sunlight, 
that through a narrow parting in the curtain fell athwart the £ 
bed. 1 

Uncle Terry, dressed as he had been the night before, knelt ? 
there, with his arms spread out before him, and his hands crossed 
loosely on the dark blue of the counterpane. It was on them 
the sunbeam fell, and their exquisite whiteness was lighted by ■ 
the gleam, into an unearthly purity. His face was hidden, but j 
his figure was quietly disposed, without a contraction in any ; 
muscle. Bess had laid down her cup on the little table where au 
open book lay, and struck by the color of his hands, had 
touched them ; her eyes were strained, her lips white with ■ 
terror, and her whole face bespoke the shock it had given her. 

Berkely had thought her a strongly-nerved woman ; he had 
never seen her in this awful presence before. She pointed to the ■ 


ITNOLE TERRY^S DREAM IS READ. 257 

figure, tried to speak, but failing, sank helplessly on her knees 
beside it. 

He raised her gently, and then took up one of the cold hands, 
and softly lifted the face. 

“ Look here, Bess,” he said, solemnly, “ there’s nothing fear- 
ful here. This is peace — this is rest ; blessed be God, who 
giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ I” 

“ My aunt, oh, my aunt 1 the leaves are beginning to fall 
around her. Who will tell her, oh, how can she know !” 

“ Let us bring her here — there is no better way to die, than 
bowed before the God of mercy. Let this silent form speak to 
her !” 

“ Is Mr. Blake acoming ?” shrieked Jenny, from the stairs. 

Berkely stepped out on the landing. 

“ Send the family up here, Jenny,” he said ; and there must 
have been more in his manner than the words, for in an instant 
she was speeding away on her errand, adding to it the additional 
clause, “ for sutliin’ orful has happened.” 

In a little while the room was full. Mrs. Morrison, Nelly, 
and Larry, while Ellen and Jenny peeped, awe-struck, from the 
doorway. 

They received the sight in silence, not a word was spoken. 
Larry, who was first, stepped back a pace, and drew a quick 
breath ; his mother clasped her hands, and sent up her heart in 
an agony of silent prayer to God, before whom the disembodied 
soul was standing. Nelly clutched both hands above her heart, 
and leaned heavily on Bess, with a strange gasp, that was neither 
sigh nor groan. 

“ Come, let us lay him on his bed,” said Berkely, in a low 
tone, to Larry, who, with an ill-repressed shudder, obeyed. They 
took him up, and stretched out there on his narrow bed, he 
looked younger and handsomer than any but Mrs. Morrison 
could remember him. Smiling and placid, with nothing of the 
horror of death in his shapely features. 

Then they saw that his face was on an open book — that his 
breath had passed away among the leaves. An old book, as old 
as hope and faith, and mercy and peace, but no romance — no, 


258 


THE MORRISONS. 


no ; tliank God, a blessed reality that endures after the vain 
pleasures and follies of the earth are all passed away. 

Bess, with her arm around her cousin, strove to point to it, 
feeling as Berkely had argued, these dumb things must speak 
consolation ; but Nelly broke from her, and threw herself upon 
the body. 

“ Dear, dear uncle I dear, dear uncle !” she sobbed ; “ it will 
not be long till I come to you with my hands full of snowdrops.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A “wake.” 

Some families seem marked out by Providence to meet with 
sickness and death, so calmly and composedly do they encounter 
either ; but it was not thus with the Morrisons — a more com- 
pletely stricken or desolated household did not gather silently iu 
darkened chambers on Christmas Day. 

Bess, the first to give way, was the first to recover her self- 
control, and lead poor Nelly down to her own room, where she 
lay down passively, turning her hidden face towards the wall. 
Mrs. Morrison sat beside the bed with its solemn occupant, and 
left it no more until the best chamber below stairs was prepared 
for its reception. Berkely took the dreary business entailed upon 
the living by the dead, and after a few sad words of conference 
with his aunt, departed on his errand.. Larry^s evident horror 
of tlr» work and his unfitness for it, gave Berkely this preroga- 
tive, and his cousin seized eagerly at the task of riding over to 
Katie^s, Miss Waters, the Daceys, and all the old family friends, 
vs ill 1 tidings of the sudden death. 

“ Blit, })ray tell them all, Larry,” said Bess, whose dislike to 
tlie bustle and flurry of strangers’ services, rejected the thought 
of a house full of officious people, “ pray tell them all that there 
is ' nothing needed, except the presence of a few old friends 


259 


A ‘‘wake.” 

at nig’lit, as your mother desires the old family custoui to be 
observed.” 

“ Pm going to a hotel, Bess,” said Larry. My room will be 
needed, you see, and I don’t want to be in the way. Though, 
of course. I’ll stay in town until after the funeral.” 

“ To a hotel, Larry I” cried Bess. “ What will your mother 
say ?” 

I’m sure I don’t know ; what should she say ?” he answered, 
slightingly. “ I’ll be out of my element here ; Berkely does all 
you want, and in fact, I’ve made up my mind to it, so that’s the 
end of it. You know, I shall be coming and g(nng, and it will 
make no difference.” 

So he departed, looking, despite his careless air, pretty well 
shocked by the event of the morning. 

Then came Ellen O’Toole, like an elephant on tiptoe, creaking 
every board in the house, as she laboriously balanced herself in 
her efforts to be noiseless, from room to room. 

“ Mrs. Morrison, dear, ye must dhrink this drap ov tay. Sure 
ye’ll have no stringth to meet yer grief if ye don’t. Och, ma’am, 
the Lord gave, and it’s himself has the right to take away. 
Sure a lady ov yer sinse and religion will niver be murmuring at 
His will.” 

Perhaps less homely consolation would have been less effective. 
Mrs. Morrison’s first coherent words about her dead uncle 
were spoken to this red-eyed domestic. 

“ Ellen, dear, I’m glad to see you feel, for from the kitten by 
the kitchen fire, to the first in the house, he had a kind word and 
a kind look for all. Oh, may the Lord keep him in His eternal 
rest I” And she broke into a passion of tears on the broad 
shoulder that heaved in sobbing sympathy. 

Towards afternoon, Ellen was able to make even poor Nelly, 
who was much quieter now, swallow some beef-tea ; and between 
these two she divided her time and skill. 

Bess found that saving balm in rational grief, plenty to do. 
As she had rejected the painful aid of strangers, she made haste 
not to need it, in case of its being pressed ; and knowing that to- 
wards nightfall, the men, whose silent stealthv step she dreaded 
VI 


2G0 


THE MORUTSONS. 


to hear, would come to take the measure of her poor uncle’s nar 
row house, she hastened to put the chamber vacated by Larry in 
order for the reception of the body. 

“ And 1 shall need you, Jenny,” she whispered to the little 
maid, who, without a shadow of her usual explosive spirit, was 
stealing softly about her work. “ Come up with' me, and carry 
these covers.” 

“ Oh, yes. Miss Bess,” the poor little creature broke out, in a 
piercing under-tone, whose suppression made her red in the face. 
“ Please let me do anything I can for Mr. Blake, because I used 
to trouble him ; but it was just for fun, and ’cause I thought he 
liked to run after me, and I liked to have him ; but I never 
thought he’d go off so suddint, or I would have been kinder and 
minded him more.” 

Bess, seeing the earnestness of her face, was drawn towards 
her in sympathy. 

“ You’re a good little girl, Jenny,” she said, “ and shall help 
me to make his last bed beautiful.” 

For this woman was so far a materialist that she was guided 
by an unacknowledged idea in her ov/n mind, that the dead man 
would be better for lying in exquisite white, with curtains 
wreathed with ivy leaves and Christmas berries, in token of his 
ripe life and peaceful death — that everything should be spotless 
and pure — that in his unconscious presence should remain the 
three things he had kept as nameless treasures — a stuffed Irish 
linnet, preserved so long that its very color was lost, and its fea- 
thers scattered like dust when you moved the vase it was in ; a 
fancy picture of a young girl on horse-back ; and, the last and 
best, the old black morocco-bound book that was pressed by his 
dead lips. 

Towards twilight, Berkely looked in on her in her silent 
work. 

“ All is ready,” she said, softly smoothing the beautiful lace- 
covered pillow that was to receive the honored wliite head. 

“ Will you not go down stairs ?” he said, persuasively. 

“ Oh no, please ; let us be with him,” she said ; “ I trust in 
God, people will not fly from me when my breath’s gone.” 


201 


A “ WAKE.-’ 

Presently, a faint, desolate soljbing sounded through the 
house, and Bess went to the cliamber door to receive her aunt, 
who had only now left her post above stairs. 

“ Nelly is sleeping,” she whispered, and the mother hushed at 
once, while the slow, heavy tread began on the upper stairs, 

Mrs. Morrison agreed with her niece about the last bed of her 
ancle. 

“ Oh, it’s beautiful, Bess, dear,” she said ; “ it’s just as it 
‘iliould be ; his life was spotless, and his memory will be green.” 

The heavy tread above came nearer and nearer, and Ellen 
O’Toole peeped in, with a question of permission in her tear- 
ful eye. 

Yes, come in, Ellen,” said her mistress. “ Do you mind the 
night before Larry’s wedding, he came up to look at the new 
lace covers and the rosettes Bess had made ? Oh, but this is a 
different day, a different day I” 

Are they going to put no shroud upon him ?” said Ellen, in 
a terrified whisper. “ Sure that’s his new black shute that ho 
put on him for the first time yesterday.” 

“ And why should we take it off him ?” said Bess, almost 
fiercely. “ No, it would be desecration to stir a fold of it. If 
I could have wrought his coffin with my own fingers, no one, but 
with the hands of love, should ever have touched him.” 

The door opened. Feet first — Bess caught sight of the 
comely, shoes that the old man still had taken a harmless pride 
in, and then she closed her eyes — it was a harder sight to bear 
than she had thought. But it was part of her religion not to 
shrink, and she looked again. It was no workman bore the 
head and shoulders — they were supported on Berkely’s broad 
bosom, and she looked aside no more. As they laid him down 
softly and stepped aside, she stooped and kissed him, as his head 
sank in the beautiful cushion that received it, and she said in lu r 
soul, “ You are welcome I” for everything there was hers, bouglit 
with her dead mother’s legacy — bought and chosen with a beat- 
ing heart, blushing cheek and smiling eye, when her money-cup 
ran over with hope, and she could see no cloud before her as a 
promised bride 


262 


THE MOKKI80NS. 


That evening brought a note from Larry ; lie was going ta 
bed early at the United States Hotel ; he had a headache, and 
would be with them in the morning. The house was full of 
strangers by this time. Mr. Waters reported Katie too ill of 
the shock to be moved ; but was, as he always was, full of kind- 
est sympathy, and kept repeating : 

“ So remarkably jolly as he was too ! I declare it’s too bad-— 
too bad.” Not with the least idea of profanely arraigning Pro- 
vidence for its decrees, but as an expression of heartfelt feeling. 

The watchers, six of Uncle Terry’s oldest friends, remained, 
and at nearly midnight, every one else departed. 

Mrs. Morrison’s ideas, Bess feeling sure they were those of her 
uncle, were consulted in every particular, and the gas was not 
lighted in the front chamber ; in its stead burned six tall wax 
candles, and the company sat about and talked quietly and 
cheerfully, as if their old friend were sleeping. Berkely’s chair 
was close beside the bed ; he knew Bess felt easiest when she 
saw him there ; and as the clock struck twelve, she led in her 
cousin, very weak and white looking, and supported her to a 
chair. Then Mrs. Morrison followed, with a broad silver tray, 
filled with glasses and a large decanter of port wine. Silently 
she passed around and served each guest. Dr, Dacey’s father, 
the oldest man present, rose ; all followed his example, and 
drank in silence. Then the three women stole out together, and 
left the wine upon the table, and the body of Terrence Blake, of 
Blake Lodge, Londonderry, Ireland, lay in state, and his friends 
kept wake around it. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

FADING. 

“ Mr. Lawrence is in the parlor, and wants to speak to you, 
Miss,” said Jenny Brackett, the next day, as Bess came down 
from carry ijig up Nelly’s breakfiist. Mrs. Morrison had voluu- 


FADING. 


263 


teered to stay, and insisted on Nellyas eating ; so tliere was noth- 
ing to prevent Bess instantly responding to her cousin’s wish, 
which she did. 

Mr. Lawrence Morrison was looking pale and something worn, 
though not a whit the less handsome. He got up as she came 
in, and said : 

“ I call on you for directions, Bess, because I know you are 
so much calmer, and have so much more self-possession in trouble 
than the rest of them. Is there anything I can do this morning 

“ No,” said Bess, slowly, “ there is nothing undone that I can 
think of. We are doing very little beyond the business Berkely 
is attending to for us. Charlotte Waters came at once, and 
took charge of the mourning ; and you know your mother’s wish 
is that none but gentleman friends attend the funeral.” 

“ I am very glad, very glad,” said Larry. “ I am a worth- 
less fellow in time of need, no one feels that more keenly than I 
do. How horribly dark it is in here ; are the shutters bolted ?” 

“ They are bowed,” said Bess ; “ but the curtains are heavy.” 

“ Oh, Bess, I am a wretched man,” Larry broke out, plunging 
at once into a strange subject. “I am mad with remorse and 
hopeless misery.” 

He bowed his head, and shook and sobbed between his trem- 
bling hands. 

Bess Saunders looked at him in the dim light in which they 
sate, surprised and pained. 

“ Nothing is hopeless in this world, Larry,” she said, gently 
“ I am very sorry for you, whatever your trouble is.” 

“ It is a trouble you should hate me for — that I despise myself 
for — that I bear about my neck like a millstone, and that I 
sometimes think will sink me like one at last.” 

“ Lawrence Morrison,” she said, calmly and kindly, “ if you 
think I either hate or accuse you, you do us both injustice. 
Before God I assure you, I forgive you from my inmost heart. 
I would not say this,” she added, more hurriedly, and with a 
rising flush in her cheeks, “ but that I fear you would not know 
it of yourself, I am true friends with you j the past is blotted 
out for ever.” 


264 


THE MOPwEISuNS. 


His tone grew sadder, and his melodious voice trembled as he 
leaned towards her. 

“ Your forgiving me makes it harder for me to forgive ray- 
self ; but oh, stay, Bess (for she had risen) ; hear me for a mo- 
ment. The girl loved me — she almost told me so. I was vain 
and foolish ; above all, I was away from you, my light, ray 
star I I forgot myself, my truth, my happiness. But you are 
revenged ; I suffer the tortures due a thousand crimes. I know 
neither rest nor peace — tied to a clod, whose very inanimate 
presence is an insult to my memory. I drag a life full of the 
hell-pangs of Sisyphus when I look on you. You shall not go — 
wait, I must tell you all ; this creature is dying, in mercy to me 
and to herself ; there will be some hope for me if you will give 
me one word — don’t fly from me — I only ask you for a word, 
Bess — do you hear me ? I have suffered in silence so long, I 
will be answered !” 

He had followed her to the parlor door, which she had flung 
wide open, and as he laid his detaining hand upon her, she thrust 
him aside, and he staggered back against the coffin of his uncle 
that the -undertaker’s men were carrying past him up the stairs. 

From that time Elizabeth Saunders never came near or looked 
at him. She saw him once or twice come in at the hall door, 
or pass out again, but she never was in the same room with him, 
till the time of the funeral, when the family all knelt to hear the 
solemn service of the church, around the coffin up stairs. The 
rooms below were crowded with gentlemen, some old business 
friends of twenty years before, who had not seen the old man a 
score of times since, and whose memories were refreshed by the 
announcement in the papei’. Dozens of oddly dressed, eccentric 
figures, old pensioners on the small charities of the large heart 
of Uncle Terry, and a few specimens whose appearance was the 
dread of Katie’s life, and for whom she felt a horror, their sim- 
l)le harmlessness but ill accounted for. They were the sprinkling 
of emigrants from his father’s place, some of whom had been 
laboring men and cotters there when he was a boy. They and 
their sons and their sons’ sons came bowed with respectful grief, 
and toddled meekly into the “ grand parlor ” and up the stairs 


FADING. 


21*5 


to take a solemn leave of their h-ndlorcks youngest son, whom 
some of them had known as Master Terrence. Peeping from 
Berkely’s bowed windows to see that the funeral cortege did 
credit to her husband’s presence, with Larry and Berkely in the 
first carriage as chief mourners, Katie’s wrath overflowed at 
these shambling figures being helped into the first coach that 
followed the private carriages of friends. 

“That 'is just what one might expect from anything Bess 
Saunders managed,” she said to herself. “ That’s her sentiment, 
and recollection of old times, and all that humbug. Much use 
in her coffin with a gold plate, that will cost her nicely, I hope, 
when she takes a pride in disgracing the family with such a rag- 
tag. But oh, how pale and grand and noble Larry looked I” she 
thought, and this was her drop of consolation. 


It was all over, and Larry had gone away to New York, and 
Katie back to West Park. The family was very quiet, and 
very, very sorrowful. Nelly had given up moving about at all, 
and Berkely had almost carried her up and down stairs these 
last few days, but she was calm, and had lost all her old restless 
chafing at her fate. 

It was her odd fancy to have her uncle’s plate still laid in its 
accustomed place at the table. “Just for a little while,” she 
said ; you may leave it off by and by.” 

There was no rallying from this blow ; they knew another one 
was pending, and Mrs. Morrison kept close beside her daughter’s 
chair, and watched each movement of the delicate hands, feeling 
they would soon be still forever. 

Yet Nelly did not seem to grow jvorse ; she merely lingered 
along, day after day alike, to read a little, doze a little, toss a 
little, and then to have an interval of peaceful quiet, when she 
would lie looking at her mother and Bess through her half-closed 
eyelids ; that was the work of every day, and if there was a 
change, it was too gradual to be noticed. 

“ Isn’t it odd ?” she said, one day. “ Who would have 
tliought that I should die of cousumption ? I used to be stouter 
than Bess or Katie.” 


266 


THE MORKISONS. 


Her mother strove to change the theme, and tried to make 
light of the probability. 

“ Oh, mother dear, you must learn to look it in the face,” she 
said. “ It’s what I’ve been at this long time.” 

Charlotte Waters brought the clergyman of her own church 
as a visitor to Burleigh Place. He was a kindly Christian gen- 
tleman, and talked to Nelly, as Ellen O’Toole said, “ most beau- 
tiful,” with a strong sympathy for her young fading life. 
Nelly listened with bowed and reverent head to the solemn 
prayers he read for her. He went away and promised to return. 
Nelly thanked him, and sank back with closed eyes, and lay 
thus silently brooding for a long time. Charlotte nodded signi- 
ficantly at Mrs. Morrison and Bess. 

“ 1 knew she would feci refreshed with the grand old service,” 
she whispered. 

Nelly opened her eyes. 

“ 1 wish Berkely would tell Barnes to come here to-morrow,” 
she said. “ I liave no right to claim his time, I know, but he 
could be doing something in the house. I want to hear him 
sing.” 

“ Such unaccountable fancies,” murmured Charlotte. “ Nelly 
dear, do you think it right to give way to such an odd taste ? 
This man is a narrow-minded, uneducated fellow ; good enough, 
no doubt, but not fitted to be the guide or stay of a mind like 
yours.” 

“ I like to talk to him, and I don’t think I am wrong in doing 
so,” said Nelly, decidedly, and Charlotte gave up the contest, in 
which she felt she was unsustained by either Bess or Mrs. Mor- 
rison. 

In a week or two after that, when she had been making one 
of h(‘r long cheerful visits, she called Bess into the hall, under 
pretence of seeing the bright starlight without. 

“ Close the door, please, Bes.s,” she said ; “ there’s a great 
draught here, and Nelly may feel it.” 

Wlieii they were out in the haH togetlier, she said : 

“ 1 want lb tell you about Juliet. Mrs. Edmmids sent me a 
letter yesteruay — something out of the general way, you know, 


FADING. 


267 


for her to communicate with me, as since Juliet was left a tiny 
orplian, she never once did me the honor to consult me about the 
child’s welfare, tliough I am her father’s only sister, and as nearly 
connected as she is herself.” 

“ But what does she say ?” cried Bess, impatiently. “ Is there 
anything worse than we know ?” 

“ Juliet has been failing in body for the last year, ever since 
her father’s death, in fact ; but now her mind’s affected. Larry 
seems deeply distressed about it, and has actually, in the face of 
facts, talked over Aunt Edmunds. ‘ He may have been incon- 
siderate, and sometimes even harsh,’ she says ; ‘ but his care and 
anxiety now almost redeem the past. The poor creature’s mad- 
ness takes the form of dread ; she thinks some one has designs 
on her life, and is indeed a pitiable object.’ ” 

“ Juliet insane,” repeated Bess, in a tone of horror ; “ is that 
what she means ?” 

“ I suppose so,” said Charlotte ; ‘‘ so my path is plain now. 
I’m no fashionable lady, with a visiting list long enough for a 
duke’s pedigree, like her maternal aunt’s ; I can give my time, 
my tiiought, sympathy, all I have on earthy to my brother’s 
child, and I start to-morrow afternoon for New York. This was 
a farewell visit, you know ; but we must not let a whisper of 
this disturb those two” — she pointed to the closed door — “ every 
heart knoweth its own bitterness ; they will have enough to meet 
by-and-bye.” 

Bess stood dumb with distress and terror. 

“Juliet mad!” she repeated, at length. “ Oh, ill-fated girl, 
God have mercy on her 1” 

“ But one thing you may rely on : there’s no asylum for her 
but my arms. Oh, Bess, Bess, your handsome devil of a cousin 
has wrought us much misery I” 

“ Hush 1” 

The door opened, and Mrs. Morrison came out. 

“ Are you striving to freeze yourselves here in this hall ?” she 
asked. “What is the matter? No ill news from Katie, I 
hope.” 

“ No, indeed,” said Charlotte, cheerily. “ I was telling Bess 


268 


THE AKmRISONS. 


that I may run off for a little visit to New York soon, and that 
involves the use of a traveling-bag. Will I send for yours in the 
morning, Bess V’ 

“ Certainly ; and write, please — do write.” She pressed her 
hands and kissed her, whispering, “ My heart’s heavy with dread 
—relieve it if you can.” 

Mrs. Morrison took leave too, and^ watched her down the 
steps, into the little close carriage that was waiting for her. 

“ Wasn’t it queer that she never said good-bye to Nell ?” she 
asked. ^ 

“ No,” said Bess, decidedly ; “ she didn’t care to annoy Nelly 
by bringing change or partings into- her quiet life. She will 
not miss Charlotte, for she doesn’t care much for her society.” 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

TERRIBLE TIDINGS. 

The next day, while the family were at breakfast, the door 
bell rang violently, and Bess rose from the table. 

“ It is Charlotte’s man after that parcel I promised her, and I . 
forgot it till this moment,’’ she said. 

She was mistaken ; as she saw the instant she entered the ■ 
hall. It was Katie’s carriage, and Katie, veiled and wrapped in 
her fur mantle, was hastily rushing up the steps in an excited 
manner. 

“Well, Bess, this is the last blow,” she cried, in a gasping 
tone,, that vibrated between anger and distress. “ Oh, this is 
really too much 1” 

To open the parlor door and thrust her breathless cousin in- 
side, and to enjoin silence by an imploring gesture on the astound- -j 
ed Ellen O’Toole, was all that Bess had presence of mind enough 
to think of, in her amazement at the sudden apparition. > 

“ What is it, in Heaven’s name ?” ,2 


TERRIBLE TIDINGS. 


269 


She asked this with her back against the door, as Katie, sink- 
ing into a chair, threw off her out-door garments, and opened up 
a paper she held clutched in her hand. 

“ It’s a letter,” she almost screamed, “ and it came by express 
before breakfast. It is the end of all the fine hopes we had for 
Larry — a disgrace, that every one knows by this time — and that 
mad wretch Juliet, who was never contented without scenes and 
horrors from the moment she came amongst us, has had her last 
fling, and drowned herself off a ferry the night before last. A 
fit of insanity, they call it ; but does that excuse dragging the 
family name before the public ? Good heavens I I’ll go mad 
myself if I think of it 1” 

Bessie’s lips formed the words after Katie, but gave no sound, 
as she leant, sinking and trembling, against the wall ; the blood 
bleached out of her very lips with fright. 

“ Where’s mother ?” cried Katie, impatient of her silence 
“This is something to rouse a worm ; the idiot that she was ; 
but why, I say, didn’t Larry control her I His aunt can write 
now, that they have suspected her of wandering for a long 
time. A pretty set, to expect, and not to act on their sus- 
picions 1” 

So she was springing up again to rush out to her mother, when 
Bess laid hands upon her, and forced her to sit down. 

“ Dead I” she said, in a dry, husky voice. “ Who saw her 
die ? who knows if she threw herself into the river ?” 

“ Who knows anything about it ?” repeated Katie, sharply 
and mockingly. “ Every one by this time, for they’re dragging 
for the body.”. 

“ Is it not found yet ?” said Bess, breathlessly. 

“ Ko, her cloak and quilted satin hood were there, and a 
woman heard the plunge and gave the alarm ; but it was too 
late, and there was something about the tide, I don’t know what, 
but the body was not found when Mrs. Edmunds wrote.” 

“ Pray God it never may be, Katie Waters I” said her cousin, 
solemnly. “ If you value the world’s opinion, pray to Him that 
it may float away to sea till the last judgment. If it be found, 
rely iq)on it, there will be marks to tell a fearful tale against 


270 


THE MOKETSONS. 


your own flesh and blood. Oh, God of mercy, look down upon 
this miserable house.” 

Some one tapped upon the door, and then it opened quickly 
It was Berkely, whose glance of surprise at Katie could not hid® 
another feeling expressed in his face. 

“ Nelly needs you, Bess,” he said. “ Pm going for Dr. Win- 
dell ; run to her at once.” 

He hurried away, and with a gesture of entreaty to Katie to 
spare her aunt, Bess obeyed him. 

Nelly was laid on the lounge, with a bloody handkerchief at 
her lips, and Ellen O’Toole was supporting Mrs. Morrison, who 
had fainted from the alarm. 

“.This is not a house to bring bad news to now, Katie,” 
whispered Bess. “ In mercy, spare these two women I” 

It was but a little while before Berkely returned with the 
doctor, a) d then they both took up the poor, slender figure 
gently, and bore it softly up stairs, never to come down again 
until it should be brought down for the last time. 

Tiiere was a long struggle between life and death, and Katie, 
subdued by the scene, sat weeping at the foot of the bed. Mrs. 
Morrison, completely overpowered by the prospect before her, 
could neither think nor eat ; but Bess was calm — so calm that 
she felt shocked at herself for her quietude. Towards noon the 
hemorrhage was entirely arrested, and Nelly sank into a gentle 
sleep. Dr. Windell turned hopefully to her mother. 

“ Now, you know, Mrs. Morrison, you would not believe me 
if I were to say your daughter was getting well again, but I 
assure you,” he added, kindly and feelingly, “ that she is not 
now in immediate danger. Keep her quiet, and pray don’t let 
her see that forlorn look when she awakes ; that would be un- 
kind as well as injudicious.” 

“ Pil strive to look easier in my mind, doctor dear,” said the 
poor mother ; “ and I thank His grace and mercy for sparing 
her here for a little while longer. Let me sit here by her, till 
she wakes, and I promise you I’ll be cheerful.” 

Katie rose. “ I must go home ; I did not say where I was 
comiug,” she said, “ and 1 will be back again to-night.” 


TKRRIBLK TIDINGS. 271 

She looked towards Bess, wlio rose and followed her, so did 
Berkely. 

While they were standing in the lower hall, Dr. Winded 
joined them. He was passing out, when Berkely stopped him. 

“ Doctor, Mrs. Waters has received a letter from New York. 
Young Mrs. Morrison, in a sudden fit of insanity, has drowned 
herself. They have not yet found the body, and it must neces- 
sarily be a subject of public comment. Is it possible to keep it 
from them He pointed up stairs as he spoke. “ Or is it best 
to try 

Dr. Winded heard this announcement with a grave face. 

“ Ah, dear me, dear me he said, and shook his head, and 
compressing his lips, pondered. Then quickly awaking to 'the 
question, he added : “ Tell Nelly or her mother, did you. say ? 
I should not advise it — unless you wished to end matters.* I 
should say it would be as sure a way of doing that, as any you 
could imagine.” 

“ Cousin Katie, let me go with you, I want to see Mr. Waters,” 
urged Berkely; for he felt that the only safety from her sud- 
denly breaking out into her wrongs, as she considered the ter- 
rible calamity that had befallen the family, was to get her out of 
the house. 

Katie, neither rejecting nor accepting his escort, went into the 
parlor to get her cloak, and the doctor saying he would return 
in a few hours, softly closed the street-door behind him. 

“ It’s an easy matter for you who don’t live in the world to 
meet this affair of Larry’s,” said Katie, to her two auditors. 
“ Why, oh, why didn’t they do something to keep her from 
rushing into death in this horribly public way 1” 

“ Katie,” said Berkely, “ if you are ashamed of your brother 
Larry in your very soul, I can join you from the depths of mine; 
but if you blame that poor desolate, friendless, driven victim of 
his, I can neither understand nor sympathize with you. Human 
justice, setting aside womanly compassion, should make you 
shrink from judging her harshly.” 

Katie’s eyes^ in spite of their redness, flashed angrily. 

“ You don’t mind a blot of scandal more or less, it seems,” 


272 


THE MOERISONS. 


said, sneeringly, “ and naturally take up Bess’s view of poor 
Larry; but I’ll tell my mother about it. I came here with that 
intention.” 

“ You shall not do it,” said Berkely, quietly. 

“ Shall not I Who will prevent me ?” 

“ I will — but you will not ask me to do so,” and his voice 
changed to earnest entreaty. “ You are angry when you should 
be deeply grieved — wrathful when you should be compassionate. 
This will not last ; your better nature will assert itself, and you 
will do me and yourself justice.” 

“ Berkely Morrison, I shall never forgive you this insult while 
I live — never, I tell you, and you may believe me.” 

With that she gathered her furs around her, and putting 
down her veil, she hurried down the steps into the carriage, 
which drove off speedily at her order. 

“ What have you done, Berkely ?” cried Bess. “ It is her 
mother’s house, remember, and we have driven her from it I” 

“ The pride of her own cold heart has done it, not I,” said 
Berkely. “ Buu God knows, I am sorry enough it is so.” 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

DOUBLE TROUBLE. 

In sore distress of mind, Bess stood in the desolate parlors 
after Berkely left her. It was so much her nature to consider 
others, that even now, in the midst of her wretched perplexity, 
her horror at the fate of poor Juliet, her sorrow ru Kat'e’.' i;i- 
dignation and her own lonely position in ihu helpless liousehuld, • 
the one feeling that Xelly and her aunt must be spared every j 
thing, was prominent in her struggling thoughts. ’ 

Berkely, whose judgment she relied on, had said to her, that j 
there was nothing Mrs. Morrison could do in the case of Larry’s i 
trouble that would be worth risking the pain of mind poor Nelly i 


DOUBLIO TliOURLE. 


27E 


wonlil oiidnre in knowing it, {iml Boss knew licr annt could not 
preserve the secret. Katie^s anger was dreadful at such a mo- 
ment, but Bess hoped and pra3X'd it would give way to her 
returning sense of propriety, and that in her aunt’s pre-occupied 
mind it would not be apparent for a time. 

“ Mr. Berkely’s man is outside,” said Ellen O’Toole, appearii g 
at the door at this point. With Ellen, any place disconnected 
with the one in which she stood, was generally referred to as 
outside ; so Bess, divining that the dining-room was now the 
place in question, turned in that direction. 

It was Barnes, as she had supposed, and he had a small pot 
of flowers with him, designed for Nelly. He was looking very 
serious, from having heard Ellen’s account of how ill she was, and 
came forward as Bess entered, with an earnest, enquiring face. 

“ Is Miss Morrison so very bad ?” he asked. “ Hear ine ; 
but I’m sorry to hear it. Sorry, sorry to hear it.” 

‘‘She’s better now, I think,” said Bess. “Wait a moment 
until I go up ; she may be awake and wish to see you.” 

Bess dreaded to go up without something to say to her aunt 
and cousin. She felt so wretcliedly, that she knew her face must 
tell the story of her heart. So she seized Barnes’ presence as a 
shield, and carried up the flowers into the darkened room. 

“ Still sleeping,” her mother said, “ but v / sweetly and 
placidly. Could Barnes remain awhile ? She had been speak- 
ing of him when she was seized with coughing, and the hemorr- 
hage occurred.” 

Bess put down the flowers on a little table near the bed ; then 
she stole softly to the pillow, and looked down on the poor 
fading face lying there. Her aunt joined her on tip-toe. 

“ Poor Katie was terribly shaken,” she whispered. “ It was 
wonderful to see the change in her this morning. Sometimes I 
have tl\ought her a cold-hearted creature in comparison to the 
rest of- us ; but she feels enough, poor thing — she feels enough.” 

Bess did not say a word. A faint stir of the hand that lay 
Ujion the coverlid like something formed of alabaster, was excuse 
pnough for silence, and she went out as noiselessly as she had 
come in. 


274 


TJIii: MOmiTSOXS. 


Barnes was below in the hall, still waiting. 

“ She is asleep yet,” said Bess. “ But would you come back 
again, if you cannot stay now ?” 

“ Yes, I will be coming and going all day,” he answered. “ i 
have work up at Myers Lane, and will be there this forenoon ; 
after that, I have nothing to do till Mr. Morrison is ready to 
give me an hour in the evening.” 

“ I suppose you have all your houses tenanted ?” said Bess, 
without in the least knowing what she was saying ; she could 
hear but one sound, and that was the heavy plash and flow of 
water against damp stones. It boomed in her ears as Katie had 
told her of the fearful fate of Larry’s wife that morning ; it had 
never ceased its dull, sullen throb, and every other sound was 
mingled in that one. 

“ Yes,” Barnes was answering. “ They arc good houses, and 
they rent easily. The neighborhood is entirely changed ; they 
are all respectable, well-doing people ; though I suppose I ought 
to be shocked to say I let the little two-story dwelling in the 
side street to an actress or dancer, called Miss Adelaide Estelle.” 

Bess had scarcely been listening, till the name struck her 
familiarly, and she remembered it as Addie West’s stage-title, 
^trangely it wound itself in her own mind with the trouble that 
^shadowed the household, and blended into the dark clouds that 
hung above them. 

“ You see I didn’t know her business,” continued Barnes. 
“ She said professional ; but I’m such a dull fellow, that I 
thought that meant singing and playing the piano, till she was in 
the house, all settled, and then I wouldn’t send her away. Now 
I find her a truly kind and good woman, though I fear it’s a sad, 
sad way to live.” 

“ Does Berkely — does Mr. Morrison know of her ?” asked 
Bess, regretting the question the instant it had passed her lips. 

Barnes shook his head. 

“ I can scarcely say he does,” he said. “ Mr. Morrison is a 
little impatient of detail, and don’t like to bother with the ten- 
ants. So I rather think I have the secret of the stage-player to 
myself.” He laughed pleasantly as he went on to say : “ Miss 


DOUBLE TROUBI-E. 


275 


Estelle has been of great service to me, for Pm inclined to 
be a narrow-minded creature, and should always have dreaded 
her class. Now I know there is good everywhere. I was to go 
to her to-day about a deserted child that was found there about 
a month ago, and that made me think of her particularly just 
now.” 

“ Was she taking this child to care for it ?” Bess asked. 

“No, that is scarcely her kind of goodness — for there are 
kinds and degrees of it, I think,” Barnes said. “ She does not 
care to see or talk to cases, as she calls them ; but she will always 
help, always seem glad and anxious to help in fact.” 

“ Miss Waters, ma^am I” 

Bess started as if a ball had whizzed by her ear. Ellen, the 
announcer, continued : 

“ Ye couldn’t hear the bell ; Mr. Berkely muffled it when Miss 
Nelly fell quiet, for fear of disturbing her.” 

“ Where is she ?” 

“In the parlor, and would ye go in till her there, she says. 
She’s greatly tuck back to hear of the attack Miss Nelly had 
this morning.” 

“ I beg your pardon for keeping you so long,” said Barnes, 
taking up his hat and account-book, and going. “ I will come 
in by-and-bye by the side yard, and ask Ellen about Miss Mor- 
rison.” 

Bess went into the parlor. Charlotte Waters was pacing the 
floor. She turned about suddenly and looked very pale, almost 
ghastly. 

“ Well,” she said, “ there’s nothing to dread now. We know 
the worst — the story’s told — ^it’s all over.” 

“ All over,” echoed Bess, “ all — all over ?” 

“That woman was here this morning,” Charlotte went on 
almost fiercely. “ I mean Joe’s wife — that woman that I saw 
tlie snake in the first time I looked at her made-up face — and 
heard her unreal voice. She’s wroth with the dead girl for 
injuring her second-mourning parties. She wouldn’t wear full 
black for your uncle, you saw, and so she has wrought herself 
into a passion against the dead. God forgive her 1” she went 


276 


THK MOKEISONS. 


on, in a tone that certainly did not seem to implore divine mercy 
for her sister-in-law. “ I see her brother in her, and I hate 
her 1” 

Charlotte was so excited, that she raised her voice and shook 
her raised hands in the air, as if to shut out for ever all sight or 
sound of the beautiful mistress of West Park. 

“ Remember Nelly,” implored Bess. 

“ Heaven forgive me I yes, I do ; I will remember Nelly, and 
to be able to remember her. I’ll get away out of this house. My 
place isn’t here. Whatever of self-control ever belonged to me 
is gone now ; I have neither strength nor judgment. You have 
both, and I’ll not detract from them by my presence.” 

“ Where are you going, Charlotte ?” 

Bess laid her hand upon her arm and looked at her implor- 
ingly. 

“ If I should answer as my angry mind dictates, I should say 
to New York, to have the life of Larry Morrison in return for 
that of my brother’s murdered child ; but I am violent now. I’ll 
be quiet enough by-and-by, and then I’ll wait, for as sure as 
there is a heaven above us, God’s vengeance will overtake that 
man.” 

•Neither at that time, nor in any time that came afterwards, 
could Bess Saunders say what she felt or thought. The death 
that had been, calm and full of peace ; the death that was, vio- 
lent and temble ; the death that was coming, expected yet . 
shrunk from ; all formed a shifting, changing picture before her ^ 
eyes that kept them from resting quietly on any one event for a I 
moment. 

“ You are going to New York still,” she said, as Miss Waters 
went towards the door. ■ 

“ Yes ; though with what object I can scarcely say.” She ^ 
turned round again, and came back a pace or two. “ The body | 
is not found, you know.” ^ 

Bess shuddered. She could see it drifting away out under the j 
green waves at sea ; then suddenly the little figure, gay in bridal ! 
finery, sat before the piano, when her hand rested, and she saw, 
the exquisitely happy face turned round consulting her husband’s' 


DOUBLE TROUBLE. 


27 " 


eye as she sang. She staggered and grew sick at heart. A blast 
of icy air and a sudden blindness struck her, so that she would 
have fallen had not Charlotte caught her in her arms. 

“ There, it is past,” she said, faintly ; “ but it was death itself 
while it lasted.” 

“ Gone for a time,” said Charlotte, **but it may come again. 
You know what is before you, can you meet it alone ?” 

“ I think I can,” she answered ; “ there can scarcely be any- 
thing more terrible than I have felt.” 

So Charlotte Waters went away gloomily, vowing hatred and 
scorn against Lawrence Morrison and his sister Katie, and full 
of bitter sorrow for the fate that had thrown them in her path. 

There was nothing but sleep, or an intense quiet that was near 
akin to it, for Kelly that day, and her mother never left her side. 
In all the great empty house there was no sound of voice or foot- 
step, for Bess went up and down as silent as her own shadow, 
and no one spoke except in faint whispers. 

Berkely had not returned since morning, and the doctor’s vis- 
its had been mere glances to assure himself that there was no 
change. Twilight brought Joseph Waters, and when Bess went 
down to see him, she lost nothing of her honor for his maidiness 
to ffnd him in tears before a picture of his wife and Nelly paint- 
ed as Spring and Autumn. Katie was still as handsome as when 
she wore the wreath of grapes and pomegranite blossoms, and 
looked. a, lovely Autumn yet ; but Spring, poor Spring 1 had lost 
her sunshine and her bloom, and it was on her his red pitying 
eyes were bent. 

“ Poor dear girl I isn’t it a shame ?” he said, turning about as 
Bess entered. “ She was such a merry creature, you know ; she 
and old Mr. Blake were such good company. Katie didn’t en- 
ioy it as much as I did ; but they really were charming.” 

He found it difficult to come to the subject before them — the 
suicide in New York. Bess saw him move his lips as he held 
ooth her hands in his, and she saw that he had neither word nor 
thought at his command. 

“ It is terrible,” she said, to relieve him of the effort ; “ but it 
is done now ; there is nothing left to be reniedied, nothing to bo 


278 


THE MORRISONS. 


struggled for. It is all in God’s liaiids now, such mcrcifnl hands 
tliat we may surely trust them with a poor crazed creature, who, 
1 feel, is now at rest.” 

These were the first tears Bess had seen shed for Juliet, these 
that flowed from her uncle’s eyes. Katie had been wrathful at 
her, Charlotte for her, but neither of them had given her memo- 
ry one tear. There was a perfect shower from the honest eyes 
that now met hers, almost blinded by their emotion. 

“ She was such a delicate little creature to suffer so,” he said, 
in his great compassion. “ I could see it from almost the first, 
though I’m not generally sharp, and I tried to do what I could 
with liim. I helped him out of a good deal, conditional on his 
promising to be sort — of — of kind and protecting, you know 
he spread out his hands to signify care and attention. “ lie was 
a capital fellow to promise. Lord I how he would re-assure mo 
when I was in a manner dubious about him ; but it don’t seem 
to have been his style to carry out well. Poor little thing 1 
poor little thing I” and he relapsed into sympathy again. 

‘‘By the way,” he said, suddenly, as if the thought had but 
just occurred to him, “ I’m sorry to say Katie is greatly shaken 
by these evil tidings. Somehow she sees in this fearful dispensa- 
tion a slight or insult to her family dignity, which makes reason- 
ing with her rather difficult.” He cleared his throat several 
times, and then came to this satisfactory conclusion : Every one 
has their own peculiar way of meeting grief and trouble, and this 
is hers, it is not in the common way of things, but Katie is not 
a common woman, you see.” 

“ Mr. Morrison went out this morning, and has not come back 
yet,” said Bess. “ I cannot tell why, but he surely will be in in 
a short time. Do you wish to — ” 

“ That’s it,” exclaimed Mr. Waters. “ I was just coming to 
that point, and will be able to get over it in a few words, now 
that I’ve passed over Katie’s antipathy, which rather stuck, you 
see ” — he made the effort to swallow, as if he felt it still in his 
throat. “ Berkely came to the office ; I was hurrying through 
work to get off to New York, and he said in a few words, that 
there was trouble here, and you had decided 7iot to mix it up 


ONE SCENE CLOSES. 


279 


with poor Juliet^s death. Well, I had some difficulty in getting 
away, owing to Katie’s state of mind, and I had no difficulty in 
making Berkely understand me, or volunteer to take my place 
till — till ” — he paused to find a word that would indicate the 
search for the body, properly and delicately, and hit at last on 
the terms — till there should be occasion for the funeral ser- 
vices.” 

“ Then Mr. Morrison is in New York now ?” said Bess, in 
surprise. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Waters, eagerly; “ didn’t I make that clear 
to you ? Well, I suppose not ; I’m but a poor hand at explana- 
tion : but his going was a kindly service to me, I assure you, and 
I came up here, as I promised him, to say he would be at home 
to-morrow evening, and that Barnes would, if you please, remain 
here to-night.” 

Then Mr. Waters, who seemed feverish with his desire to do 
something for the family, began to press on Bess the necessity of 
allowing him to remain as a watcher in the house, or to do some 
service that would show how completely his heart was touched 
by their trouble. 

There was nothing to be done, except a prescription to be got 
from a druggist’s, which Bess preferred Barnes going for, lest 
Katie might chafe at her husband’s detention. So that, gently 
urging his departure on that account, Bess at last saw him out, 
protesting his unwillingness to go to the last, and mingling poor 
Juliet and Kelly together pathetically, as he turned away his 
good, troubled face. 


CHAPTER. XXXYII. 

ONE SCENE CLOSES. 

February, that dreary, snowy, bitter month, was just begun, 
when Katie came to Burleigh Place with the sad story of 
Juliet’s death, and it was yet but a week old when Nelly had 


280 


THE MOEKTSONS. 


t’unk so low, that even that calamity was for the time eclipsed by 
the pending sorrow at home. Katie’s dignity had triumphed 
over her wrath, as Bess had hoped it would, and she came daily 
in her carriage and made a subdued visit, in which she never 
raised her eyes to meet Berkely’s or Bess’s, but bore herself like 
an injured queen and a constant sister. Barnes had not only 
stayed the night of Berkely’s absence, but by some inex[)licable 
understanding, he had remained every night since, and was often 
found whispering beside the dying girl’s pillow, for Nelly’s voice 
was nearly gone now, and sometimes she could be heard by no 
one but the quick-eared little man. She had grown strangely 
cheerful, and was so perfectly resigned, that Bess felt the sting 
was lost from death for her forever. 

Charlotte Waters had come home again, with nothing satisfac- 
tory to tell. The body, although every effort was used towards 
its recovery, had never been lound. It had been some time near 
midnight when Juliet left home. She had a nurse, who had left 
her apparently sleeping, but after a short absence, returned to find 
the bed empty. It was nearly daybreak. She was traced to one 
of the ferry slips, and it was supposed that, having gone to a 
sdiool in Staten Island when a child, she first started out with 
the idea of going there to see her old teachers, as she had spoken 
of them often as a place of refuge from her iiuaginary pursuers 
in the last few' days. 

The poor creature v/ho gave her testimony, and the cloak and 
hood she found, to the police, conflicted in her statements ; some- 
times describing Juliet’s figure exactly, at others representing her 
in a different way. She was a poor, bewdldered wu’etch — a sad 
eye-wdtness of the last moments of such a darling of love and 
fori une, as Juliet Waters once had been. 

Mrs. Edmunds, who was a good, sensible woman, as Charlotte 
said bitterly, considered it the best way to*” stop scandal, to be on 
excellent terms with her nephew ; so she seemed bent on crying 
him up as a hopelessly crushed husband, painfully afflicted by a 
mysterious Providence, and thus meeting unpleasant inquiries 
into their domestic state. 

This view of the case wms wise enough to almost re.concilo 


ONE SCENE CLOSES. 


281 


Katie to fate and her brother’s dead wife. She could now speak 
of her as ‘‘ such a trial to poor, dear Larry,” and hint at he- 
reditary insanity on her mother’s side, and even quite pity the 
poor thing, who “ could never be called accountable, you know.” 

Nelly wished to see her brother Lawrence. It had come to 
that time with her, when wishes are sacred things, and he wa.s^ 
sent for. Mrs. Morrison never suspected the secret signs, the 
sudden breaks in conversation, the mysterious whisperings in the 
hall, to be at all connected with her son’s fortunes. “ Did the 
doctor say anything new?” was her constant inquiry, after 
noticing anything of the sort, and when assured that he had not, 
there was no further motive for excitement or suspicion in her 
mind. 


Bess held a telegram in her hand as her aunt descended the 
stairs from Nelly’s room one morning. 

It is from Larry,” she explained ; “he will be here this 
evening.” 

“ Does he say no more — nothing about Juliet at all ?” asked 
she. 

Bess was glad to be able to say ; “ It would be odd if he did 
more than assure us of his coming, by telegraph, aunt. You 
must wait for the rest till you see him.” 

“ To be sure ; you’re right, dear,” asserted her aunt. “ I’m 
so broken down with trouble, that I look for it everywhere. J 
trust all’s well with them.” 

“ Katie and Charlotte Waters write often, so there can be 
nothing new, you know.” Bess looked at the paper in her hand 
steadily. She was a poor actress now, and did not trust herself 
at all. Her aunt stood sadly at her side, and glanced along the 
silent hall. 

“It’s an altered, altered house, Bess,” she murmured, “an 
altered house, an altered house I Sometimes, when I’m sitting 
silently by Nelly’s side so long, I half lose myself, and think I 
must be dreaming that I’ll wake up again to the old times, and 
hear Larry and yOur uncle and Nelly at their games, and see 
Katie looking on, and you l)usy and smiling. 0 dear I but 


282 


THE MOERTSONS. 


it was a, happy time then, if we had but known it and 
prized it.’’ 

Bess leaned her head on her aunt’s shoulder, and cried as if 
her heart would break ; then, recovering her quiet, she accused 
liersclf of giving way, and called it selfish folly. 

It was only nature.l that those two women should shudder at 
the work of time and death ; but the figure, lying so still and 
patient above stairs, that the two irrevocable powers were fo,sli- 
ieiiing for eternity, neither wept nor shuddered. 

“ For I am losing, not my love for you,” she said, looking 
fondly at them with her beautiful violet eyes, “ but my regret at 
leaving you. Since I have learned the depth and breadth of 
God’s love, I have ceased to* fear death, and I know there is no- 
thing dreadful, but want of faith and trust.” 

Katie came just after the dispatch from Larry ; but Nelly was 
sleeping, so she kissed her and went away. Charlotte Waters 
and the Daceys, with many old friends, stole up afterwards one 
by one, and looking at her lying like a phantom flower, beauti- 
ful, but not, earthly or tangible in her loveliness, went away 
vvee})ing, feeling they had taken a last look at merry Nelly 
Morrison. 

At four o’clock came Larry, and Bess, hearing the wheels, 
went down to warn him to keep the story of his loss from his 
mother a little while yet. 

He was already in the dining-room, where he had cauglit sight 
of a glowing fire, and throwing aside his cloak and wrappings, 
was basking in its light and warmth when she entered. 

A glance showed Bess that he bore Mrs. Edmunds out in her 
stta-y, by being in deep mourning, and looking as nobly sad and 
son-ow-stricken as it was in the nature of his handsome face to 
aj'-prar. He met her as she faltered in the doorway wdth a quick 
gl ine(?, that strove to read her very soul. 

“ I am very glad you are come,” she said. “ Nelly has longed 
to see you.” 

“ Do I come home again ?” he asked, in a sad and humbled 
tone, with a strong emphasis on the word. 

Bess paused an instant, and looked^at him inquiringly. 


ONE SCENE CLOSES. 


283 


You know my story,” he continued, in the same tone. " My 
own folly brought its own reward. At eight^and-twenty I have 
nothing to boast of but a shipwrecked life — ^hopeless, aimless, and 
loveless. I ask you, Bess Saunders, have I come home ? I have 
no other on the wide earth now.” 

He bowed his head and stood abased before her, an-, humbled 
prodigal, returned to beg the shelter of his old home. She nei 
tlier liked nor trusted him ; but it was not in her to scorn or 
throw aside the semblance of need or sorrow, so she answered 
him, that his mother’s house must always be his refuge ; that he 
was too young to despair ; that Heaven could help him, as she 
prayed it would. His wife she did not name. She felt that 
what she knew and guessed had better not be spoken, and she 
could not school herself to condole with him for the death of the 
woman she knew he had wronged and hated. 

“ Katie has gone away for the day,” said Bess, trying to pre- 
vent his replying. “ She is not well, and Nelly was sleeping 
when she came this morning. Will you come up, or shall I 
bring aunt down ?” 

“ Let me rest awhile, Bess,” said Larry, fretfully. “ 0 Bess, 
why should you deny me a moment of peace ? God knows I 
have had few enough. I want to lie here and look around 
me. The old room may bring back my old feelings. The past 
eighteen months, from this point, seem like a dreary dream.” 

He had flung himself on the lounge, where he used to lie after 
tea, while the girls practised in the parlor, and Bess busied her- 
self about her housewifery. 

She turned to leave him. 

“ Pray, Bess, give me a word of welcome, forgiveness, pity, 
encouragement What you will I” he cried. 

She stopped an instant. He had chosen the easiest position 
in the room for hi.s penitence, and the most graceful attitude for 
its expression. She had seen him thus a thousand times, but 
never with such calm, clear, unbelieving eyes ; he had wronged 
her in word and act almost every day of their lives together, but 
in the evening he would make peace from where he lay, partly on 
the strength of his great beauty, partly from the depth of hel 


284 


THE MORRISONS. 


fond nature, and always to his own advantage ; now he seemed 
to forget that she was wiser and out of the power of his spell, 
and to look at her with his old glance, expecting her to 
feel it. 

“ ril tell Nelly you are here,” she said, as she marvelled 
at the nature of a man who could so easily forget, and left 
him. 

“ Oh, Larry, dear Larry I” and the two weak, trembling 
hands of his dying sister clasped themselves round his neck, and 
held him drawn down closely to her. “ Ii^s only a little while 
since 1 saw you last ; but yet it ^eems like a lifetime. You were 
kind to come ; was he not, Bess'?” 

They three were alone together. Mrs. Morrison had gone to 
take a little rest at Nelly’s strong persuasion, and Berkely had 
not yet come in for the evening. 

“ Do you know why I wanted to see you so much, Larry ?” 
slic said, after lying silent a long time, looking at him earnestly, 
and holding his hand in hers. “ It was to say something that 
belongs to the world that I am closing accounts with. I want 
to ask your pardon, and to see Bess forgive you — hear her say 
so freely, truly, and heartily. It will take a little load away that 
has always made my heart heavy when I think of either. You 
used to like each other better than you do now — don’t look so 
at me, Bess, I must say it ; and Katie and I were so selfishly 
comfortable in Bess as our cousin, that we didn’t like to think of 
her as our sister, and so discouraged it. That would not have 
touched your fine heart, Bess ; but Larry is not true to himself 
always, and we urged and helped him to be false. Forgive us 
both ; Katie will ask you too, sometime — I do now.^^ 

Larry’s voice trembled, and his eyes were full of tears, as he , 
answered : 

“ 1 do, Nell dear ; but God only knows what you have lost 
in(>.” : 

Until that moment he had never seen or known the opposition ' 
his sistei- s})oke of ; if he had, it would have been like chaff be- i 
fore the wind of his own pleasure ; but he accepted excuses for I 
his faults and evil deeds, as he w^ould have done any other sacrl » 


ONE SCENE CLOSES. 


285 


fice he could wring from others, and being at this time actually 
in search of some, he clutched at this presented, with avidity. 

“ But, Larry,” his sister went on, and her voice was scarcely 
more than a clear whisper, “Juliet never wronged you; she 
thought that in giving you her love, she blessed you with the one 
strong wish and prayer of your existence. For the sake of pity 
and mercy, be true and kind to her, poor girl, poor injured girl 
that she is ! Oh, Larry, I could not die till I had held your 
hand in mine, and heard you promise me this. It is the last fa- 
vor 1 shall ever beg of you. Say that you will be kind and true 
to poor Juliet as long as she live^,^ Kneel here, and promise me 
this” 

Larry instantly obeyed ; but as he did so, he glanced sideways 
at Bess, with a half smile, as he waited for the words. 

“ I promise my poor little sister Kelly,” she said, and he re- 
peated them after her, still with the questioning look on his cou- 
sin, “ that I will never speak harshly nor act unkindly or falsely, 
to my wife Juliet while she lives. And it may be easier to keep 
than you think,” she said. “ She may not trouble you long.” 

She sank back, and Larry rose and kissed her. 

“ Thank you, and God bless you,” she murmured softly. 

Bess came near her, and she partly closed her eyes, but held 
her hand out that Bess might take it. 

Could she be sleeping ? A long time seemed to pass without 
a change or motion ; Larry still leaned forward, watching them 
both, and Bess silently, solemnly counted the fluttering pulses 
that dragged or flew under her fingers. 

Berkely came in, by-and-bye, but paused near the threshold, 
and came no farther. She seemed suddenly to wake and look 
bout her. In another moment she sat up, and said eagerly : 

“ Are you ready ? Where's my dress ?” 

Bess said : “ What is it, Nelly dear? We are all here, you 
see.- Shall I call your mother ?” 

“ No, certainly not ; mother would never consent to stand in 
tableaux, you know. Come here ; you and Berkely first, as 
bride and bridegroom, then we will arrange ourselves afterwards. 
The Bridal — it's Katie's idea, and 1 think it so pretty I where’s 


286 


THE MOEEISONS. 


your veil ? Berkely, take her hand ; support her — ^you know 
how they do in pictures 

Ill her wandering fancy she was so eager, that she almost rose 
in bed, and leaned forward, drawing them nearer, and joining 
their hands. 

Oh, Bess, Bess ! why do you wear black ?” she went on, in a 
distressed tone ; “ but we can change that ; there, that’s perfect.’’ 

Berkely and Bess stood side by side before her ; Bess was cold 
and white as marble, but Berkely’s face glowed with a sudden 
light, and he threw his right arm round her, and held her close 
to his heart. ^ 

What God has joined toother, let no man put asunder,” 
Nelly uttered, in a clear loud tone, her hands spread out, as if 
invoking a blessing. 

“ Uncle Terry, draw the curtain,” she cried ; “ the picture is 
ready.” And then she fell backwards on her pillows. 

Her mother opened the door. 

“ Is she easy ?” she whispered. 

“ Come in, mother,” said Larry ; “ her mind’s gone.” 

“ Gone 1” she caught the word, “ who’s gone ? what’s gone ? 
Nothing but clouds and night and sorrow I” 

Bess stooped and raised her tenderly. 

“Is it near morning ?” she asked, softly. 

' “ No, darling, we have but just lighted the lamps,” Bess 

answered. 

“ Yet it is nearly morning.” Her voice was calm and full of 
music now, the fit of confusion was past, and she looked out upon 
them all serene and lovely. 

Her mother, with a terrible consciousness that the moment 
she had dreaded so long was come at last, sank on her knees 
close beside her, and cried out in the anguish of her soul : 

“ Oh, Nelly, my darling, my own Nelly, don’t leave us, don’t 
leave us I” and buried her poor bowed head in the pillow where 
she lay. 

The light hand, that was so delicate and wasted, that it seemed 
scarcely earthly, fell gently on her forehead, and she strove to 
raise it. ! 


BKSS'S FIJIGIIT. 


287 


“It is a cloud, a darkness ; you will come out into the liudit 
again ; you are not utterly bereaved.” Slie s})oke now so faintly 
aud gasped so, that tliey closed around to catch the words. She 
pointed to Bess and Berkely, then to Larry, and finally said, 
with a great effort : “Try to kiss the rod. The God of Abra- 
ham praise ” 

Barnes stood in the doorway, her look caught him and drew 
him forward. They made way near her, and she said, “ Sing.” 

They all sunk down at the word. Such songs are prayers : 

The God of Abraham praise — 

distinctly aud clearly she joined in that first line — it was the last 
sound she ever uttered on earth. 

Barnes’ eye, as he sung, first saw that she no longer heard 
him, and so he rose and aoftly stole away, leaving the bowed 
hearts to the sacredness of their own bitterness. 


CHAPTER XXX Y IT I. 

Bess’s fright. 

When Katie heard of her sister’s death through Larry, about 
an hour after its occurrence, she was fearfully shocked, and gave 
way to more feeling than her family had ever known her exhibit 
before. Abandoning the grandeur of West Park, she came liome 
again to her old room and old ways till after the funeral. Larry 
and she were apparently the most grief-stricken of the family. 
]\Irs. Morrison’s blow sank too deep for words or tears, and 
Bess was quiet and busy, and seemed without eyes or ears for 
any one but her aunt. 

The room above stairs was closed and deserted ; it had been 
the one point of interest in the whole household for nearly a 
month past j now the blinds were drawn, the door locked, and 


288 


THE MOERISONS. 


‘ A 

the beautiful figure on the bed, composed and silent, left alone 
unwatched and untended for the first time. 

They were all in the dining-room. Mrs. Morrison, pale, worn, 
and in Ellen O’Toole's phraseology, very “ ill-like,” sitting with 
her hands folded before her, and neither heeding nor taking part 
in the arrangements that Katie and Larry were busy making for 
the future. Berkely and Joseph Waters were talking apart in a 
low tone about the time and place of burial, and Bess was 
making a bowl of gruel for her aunt, which she presently brought 
and tried to induce her to swallow. 

“ I would, dear, if I could,” the poor woman said, sadly; “ but 
something rises and fills my throat whenever I strive to do it. 
Maybe I will by-and-bye.” 

“ No, dear aunt, just take one mouthful, please, not for itself, 
but the strength it will give you.” 

“ It's not in the like of this to give strength, Bess. What I 
need is the spirit to resign myself to God's will, and cease to 
rebel. It will come to me in His mercy by-and-bye.” 

The poor, white, pitying face looking down at her, touched her 
now ; so she took the drink, and made the effort to swallow a 
little, saying kindly : 

“ It's very good, dear, and would tempt me to eat if anything 
would, I'm sure.” 

“ Berkely, cannot I have that little museum-room of youi's 
over the stairs ?” asked Larry, suddenly. “ You don't need it, 
and there's a sofa there I can sleep on.” 

Berkely looked up in amazement, and Katie said : 

/‘Why, Larry, you never could get along with that little 
closet ; it’s nothing more, and there are other rooms where you 
can be comfortable.” 

“ It's my choice of the house,” said Larry ; “ the only place 1 
shall take in it. What do you say to it, Berkely ?” 

“I say you shall have your choice by all means, though I 
reserve the privilege of marvelling at it,” he answered, in a cold, i 
surprised tone. ^ j 

“Then it's arranged, and you shall wonder as much as you S' 
like,” said his cousin. a. 


Bess’s fright. 


289 


The door-bell rang. 

Ellen passed through the dining-room on her way to answer it. 

“ Shall I say ye’ll see who iver it is, Miss ?” she asked of 
Bess. 

Thinking it must be Charlotte Waters, and knowing her hor- 
ror of Larry, and the misery of their meeting just then, she 
said : 

“ Yes, in the parlor ; light it, please.” 

Ellen came back after a few moments. 

“ A lady, and she’ll not kape ye but a minute, Miss.” 

“ Berkely, Katie says you bought a place for my mother at 
Oak Hill,” said Larry, as Bess left the room ; is it anything 
of a house ? The neighborhood’s cheerful, I know, and it’s but 
a quarter of an hour’s drive from town.” 

Mrs. Morrison made a gesture of distress at the theme Larry 
had chosen, and hid her face with her handkerchief. 

“ It was your uncle’s purchase,” Berkely answered, in a low 
tone, “ and the house is a very good one, I think,” 

Larry drew his chair nearer. 

“ A change after what has happened here cannot be inju- 
dicious. Katie and I think it would be well to dress up Oak 
Hill into a family-seat. Don’t we, Katie ?” 

Berkely glanced at his aunt ; she was rocking herself slightly 
^backwards and forwards, with her face still covered. 

“ She is scarcely able to discuss that yet,” he said ; “ we can 
wait awhile.” 

Katie took out her handkerchief, and 'beginning by wiping 
her eyes, ended by sobbing a little, while Larry looked so sub- 
dued and sad, that compared to him Berkely seemed a picture of 
[ stony indifference. 

i ‘‘ One should conquer selfish grief when the comfort of others 
I is in question, I know,” said Katie, struggling for composure. 

' “ Mother, will you not lie down, if I arrange those pillows for 

; you ?” 

j “ I think I will go up to my own room, dear,” Mrs. Morrison 
j returned, rising. “ I leave it ail to you, only let everything be 
' as she would have wished it, if you can.” 

14 


290 


THE MORETSON8. 


She looked towards Berkely and her son-in-law, wlio answered 
her by bending their heads in acquiescence. Tlien she paused 
near Larry^s chair. 

“ If you think Pm one of them fool-bodies that want to fly 
from trouble or the Lord's dispensations, however weak I may 
be to bear them, you mistake your mother, Larry. The two 
silent voices, the two empty seats, the two lost treasures, only 
make the old place dearer. Thank God, I can feel that the day 
will come, if He spares me to see it, when the bitterness and 
sting of sorrow will fade into quiet memory, and I can rejoice in 
recalling all I’ve lost — I’ve felt it before — and in His own good 
time, I trust to feel it again. None but them who can see in 
their own evil consciences the secret of their pain, need fly from 
grief, Larry Morrison.” 

lie winced under his mother’s words, and turned round in his 
chair. You don’t kuow my meaning, mother,” he said, “ and 
I shan’t trouble you now by explaining it.” 

“ You’re right, I have neither the mind nor thought for such 
things now. Good night to you all, and God bless you.” 

She put out her hand to open the door, when it unclosed, and 
Bess came in, and crossed the floor and sat down where her aunt 
had been sitting,‘'and clasping her hands together with a strong 
effort at self-control, looked down upon the carpet. 

“Was it a stranger, Bess?” Katie asked, presently, looking 
up astonished at her cousin’s frightful pallor. 

Bess, startled at the question, looked from one to the other 
irresolutely, and then said, with au effort, and faltering at every 
word : 

“ No ; it was a person who came to see me about — about 
business.” 

Katie took out her watch and looked at it, then at her hus- 
band. 

“ It is nearly eleven, Joseph,” she said ; “ and time for you to 
go. What an odd hour for your business people to choose, Bess I” 

But Bess did not seem to hear her ; she was looking steadily 
at the wall beyond Larry’s head, and her eyes were wild with 
some inexplicable feeling. 


Bess’s fright. 


291 


Berkely rose and went towards her. 

“ Will you not try to rest to-night he asked. “ You must 
learn to consider yourself for the sake of other people. You 
have so much to do, you must keep the strength to do it.” 

She rose mechanically, and seemed to try to smile to assure 
him of her compliance. Katie leaned back in her chair, and 
watched her as she moved about, putting things to rights, lifting 
and laying the same things a dozen times over, and seeming the 
more disturbed, in her effort to appear at ease. 

Joseph Waters departed, and Berkely went out to close the 
hall door after him. Larry gathered the papers strewn on the 
table into the portfolio and closed it up. 

“ What is the matter with you, Bess ?” exclaimed Katie. 
“ Look at the girl I she is demented.” 

Her cousin^s words did not serve to re-assnre her, whatever 
her perturbation, and as Larry, following Katie’s exclamation, 
looked at her, she was trembling so that her hand, resting on 
the marble chimney-piece, clutched it for support. He jumped 
up quickly and ran to her side. 

“ What is it, Bess ? Oh, tell me what it is that troubles you 1 
See, she’s growing faint — she’s falling 1 Good heavens, this 
seems like death I” 

It was not in Katie’s way to be startled by fainting fits, but 
there was something so terribly real in the ghastliness that fell 
upon Bess Saunders’ face, and the utter prostration that seized 
her form, that for once she was frightened out of her coolness, 
and cried for Ellen O’Toole to come with water quickly. 

“ It was that precious Charlotte Waters, I’m sure, with some 
new version of horror,” she said to Larry, as he tried to raise 
her. “ I hate that woman, and she knows it, and lets me 
alone.” 

“ See,” said Larry, only intent on the white face in his arms ; 
“ she is cold as ice itself ; get hot brandy — do go, Katie ; don’t 
trust to that clodhopper.” 

He had placed her on the sofii, still holding her in his arms, 
when Berkely opened the door, and at a glance turned nearly as 
white as Bess hcrsell. 

19 


292 


THE MOREISONS. 


I 

How did it happen he asked, breathlessly ; and Larry, 
closing him out by placing himself in front of the sofa as he 
gathered the pillows under Besses head, answered deliberately ; 

“ She has fainted, you see.” 

Berkely stood an instant, waiting to catch his cousin’s eye, 
who, presently glancing over his shoulder, gave him the oppor- 
tunity, then he caught him by the arm and thrust him aside, as 
if he were polluted. 

“ Don’t touch that girl, Larry Morrison,” he said, below his 
breath, for the door was open, and Katie and Ellen were busy 
in the next room heating brandy. “ You know in your soul 
your touch is poison to a true woman I” 

Larry’s look told Berkely how his cousin received this, but he 
said not a word in reply ; and neither of them had time to 
speak till Katie brought the glass with warm liquor and gave 
her some to drink. 

• She could not swallow, and at last Katie desisted in her at- 
temj)ts to make her, and said : 

“ She is very ill ; you had best have Doctor Windell come at 
once.” 

For a moment, Larry looked at Berkely, and Berkely at 
Larry — like the two mothers before Solomon, they both strove 
for one love. Larry’s was false, for he did not stir ; and 
Berkely, dropping the cold hand he held, laid back the still mar- 
ble-like face upon its pillow and left the room ; in a moment or 
two the hall door closed loudly, and he was hurrying on his way 
to Grove Street. 

Dr. Windell came back with Berkely after a very little while ; 
he had been there early in the evening, just after poor Nelly \ 
died, and Berkely had a momentary difficulty in making him 
understand this second summons. - 

“ Miss Saunders,” lie repeated, struggling into his great coat. ' 
“ What under heaven can it be ? not hysterics, for she’s not the j 
style, you know.” 

Y'ct, wiicii he saw her, despite his former iinprcssiou of her ' 
strengih ofuiiiid and will, he almost inclined to that opinion. • 

Siie vv.u> uiih. [Miti.iily eonsciou.', and seemed to refuse to bo« i 


293 


Bess’s fkight. 

come wholly so, for, when she opened her eyes, she would be 
seized with a shuddering that was painful to see, and instantly 
relapse again. 

“ Have her taken up stairs ; the gas-light flares here, and 
that woman shakes the floor as she walks f the doctor said this, 
alluding to the heavy tiptoeing of poor, sympathetic Ellen, who 
was evidently in the most explosive state of interest and atten- 
tion. 

Bess roused herself at this, and drew a shawl, Katie had 
thrown over her, closely round her shoulders. She w’as neither 
composed nor entirely conscious, but she seemed to know per- 
fectly that she was to leave the room, so she rose and tried to 
speak, though her teeth chattered as if she were in a chill. 

“ I can go alone easily, and Til try to sleep ; that will make 
me quite well, I know.” 

Neliy had died in the great front room where her uncle was 
waked. It had been her whim, weeks before, to be carried 
thither for light and sunshine — and so into her own lonely room, 
long untenanted, for her nights had been passed on a lounge be- 
side Nellyas bed since she had first been very ill, poor Bess, 
clinging to the bannisters, crawled ; while Katie followed with 
the light. 

“ There has been some cause for this illness, Bess, if you 
choose to tell it,” said her cousin, as she brought a wadded 
gown out of the wardrobe and helped her cousin to undress. 
“ I don’t expect confidence from you, Bess ; you are so naturally 
secretive, that would be too much ; but one would suppose I 
might have some slight reason to know what occurs in my 
mother’s house the night of my only sister’s death.” 

“ I have nothing to tell — I am ill — worn out — I must rest — 
I must be quiet.” This was all Bess would say in reply, and 
this she said in gasps, and motioned her cousin towards the 
door. 

“ How does she seem ?” asked Doctor Windell, meeting her as 
she came out on the landing. 

“ As perverse and inexplicable as it’s possible for a w'oman to 
be,” answered her charitable cousin, as she stole softly down to 


294 


THE MOKEISONS. 


join Larry in weeping over the loss of a sister that neither had 
truly loved, and planning the future of a family whose present 
they had oftened rendered miserable. 

“ This is Bess’s house, you know ; and as long as mother re- 
mains in it, there will be no real independence for her or us. 
Fortunately, this place at Oak Hill can be put in good order 
with what Uncle Terry left, and then Bess will find that she is no 
longer queen of the mansion and ruler over us all.” This was 
Katie’s final conclusion, as they sat together, nearly an hour 
after the doctor had gone up to Bess’s room ; and Larry, dis- 
covering it was almost one o’clock, proposed to go to bed. 

As they went out into the hall very softly, lest they should 
make a sound that would rouse their mother, they met the doc- 
tor coming as silently down, lighted by Berkely. 

“ Good heavens I” cried Larry. “ I thought I heard you go 
an hour ago — at least the door closed then ; is Bess worse ?” 

“ Your cousin is better — but you were mistaken ; I was hero 
all the while ; Mr. Berkely Morrison went after some medi- 
cine.” 

You’re sure Bess is better ?” asked Larry, again looking at 
him doubtfully. The doctor did not immediately reply, but re- 
turned the look with one so odd, so indefinable, that Katie 
could not for her life read its meaning ; then he said ; 

Oh, yes, quite sure ; she’s undoubtedly better.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

DOUBTS. 

So she was ; as transpired the next morning, when Katie, who 
neither well nor strong, looked pale and exhausted, and entirely 
unable to see condoling friends, was obliged to lie down after 
breakfast. Bess, though not looking in tlie least like her old 
calm self, was yet able to go through her usual share of the du- 


DOUBTS. 


295 


ties and cares of the household, and receive such visitors as it 
was impossible to avoid seeing. Mrs. Morrison was her essential 
care, but even she saw her changed face, and questioned her as 
to its cause. 

“ Katie says you took a weak spell, last night, and were very 
ill, dear,” she said ; I think it was unfeeling in you not to call 
me ; I would have been glad to come.” 

I am quite well now, aunt,” Bess returned, and strove to 
drive her from the idea ; but Mrs. Morrison persisted, and ac- 
cused Berkely of carelessless in not sending for her. 

“You know, Berkely, that Bess needed care when she fainted, 
as Katie says she did, and you sent for the doctor and never let 
me know.” 

Berkely felt, that whatever had been Bess’s trouble, he was not 
to know it, yet helped her to avoid having it probed, and made 
light of the attack of the night before. He was still endeavoring 
to assure his aunt it was nothing but want of rest, when Ellen 
said I)r. Windell was waiting for Miss Bess, and she left them 
in great haste and with a rising color. 

A strange, selfish pang he had never felt before shot through 
Berkely’s heart as he marked this, but he crushed it in a moment 
more, and thinking that the hour had come for his appointment 
with Mr. Waters, hurried through the hall, and took down his 
cloak from the rack. As he put it on, the parlor-door was ajar, 
and through the reflection of the great mirror above the hearth, 
he saw Bess Saunders catch Dr. Windell’s hands both within her 
own, and fall weeping upon his shoulders. 

“ Selfish, contemptible fool 1 what an agony your wounded 
self-importance gives you 1 Because another shares the trust you 
were so proud of, you are trying to doubt the goodness of an 
angel.” He said this to himself as he went down the steps and 
out into the street ; and he said worse than this as he walked 
along down to the closed counting-house of Katie’s husband, for 
it took this and all else he could say, or think of, in the same vein, 
to fight himself out of the wretchedness the sight of the beau- 
tiful head he so worshiped lying on another man’s shoulder gave 
Irm. 


29G 


THE MORRISONS. 


For he had grown to love this woman with all the matured 
intensity of the first strong passion of his life. He had always 
been a lover ; it was bis weakness to adore something, but being 
out of the range of womanly beauty, for years Bess’s rivals had 
been the heroines of story, pictures, names, ideals ; and he had 
never knowm a real, true love till Bess Saunders woke the feeling 
out of his strong interest and compassion for her fate. 

Then he had begun to love her without knowing it or desiring 
a return, and finally it had become the one master thought and 
passion of his existence, though he had never sought by word or 
look to tell her so or have her know it. He was content to 
think that fortune and association had linked them closely to 
each other, and bless the happy bond. This, then, was his first 
awakening to doubt and pain, and he accused himself of foolish 
hopes, mean exactions, and selfish thoughts ; to arraign her was 
not part of his love ; whatever of fault or wrong there was must 
be with him. She of necessity was perfect. 

Poor Nelly I he thought of her wandering mind and the 
tableau she had arranged with her dying hands, and his heart 
bounded again. “ A selfish heart,” he acknowledged, “ to bound 
or grieve at things like these, when the shock of death is newly felt 
by all the rest.” To subdue such a busy contest between hope and 
fear, he strove to bring his mind back to the trouble of the pre- 
sent solely, and whenever the picture of Bess in the parlor lean- 
ing on the doctor’s arm flashed like a painful memory on him, he 
drove it back by bitterly acknowledging, She is right to have 
another friend, a man of greater mind and heart-than I, worthier 
her trust and confidence.” 

So Berkely met Joseph Waters, and they together ordered all 
things fitting for poor Nell’s last rest, and rode home again to 
Burleigh Place to sit and talk in whispers with Katie and Larry 
in the solemn house, where a dreary sort of business went on 
towards the funeral. j 

“ 1 think Charlotte Waters’ conduct absurd, Joseph,” said 
Katie in a tone whose lowness could not hide its anger. “You 
must speak to her, for I will not permit a. scene here at this 
tune.” 


DOUBTS. 


297 


Joe looked distressed beyond nu'usiire, and glanced furtively 
towards the door and then at Larry, for he knew his sister liad 
pointedly refused to enter the apartnnnt graced by the presence 
of her recreant nephew, and in his inmost heart he rather envied 
her freedom to thus express an aversion he shared with her, yet 
was forced to hide. 

“ She is peculiar, Katie,” he mui'tnnred, softly and deprecat- 
ingly ; “ she always v/as. I remember she did something terri- 
bly startling, in just the same way, that poor John never got 
over. It was when she was a girl at boarding-school, and slio 
came home for the holidays, when they were trying a man for 
strangling his wife, who tried to prove that siie had hanged her- 
self. Somehow, there was a lack of evidence, and the jury disa- 
greed, so that he was finally acquitted. Well, John was taking 
us to the Chinese Museum, and as we passed the court-house, 
they brought the man out, surrounded by a guard ; we were 
hemmed in by the crowd, and he had come quite close lo us, when 
Charlotte shook her sunshade at him, and said aloud, ‘ But you 
killed that woman, you know you did.’ 1 never saw anything 
like the distress of brother John ; he couldn’t endure a scene, 
and every one looked at Charlotte, whose eyes flaslied as they 
do now when her spirit’s up ; for siie had read the tri^l, .it 
seems, and had her own opinion of how things were.” 

Mr. Waters then became suddenly aware that his anecdote 
liad not been of a cheering or agreeable nature ; Larry turned 
an ugly white, and bit his lip ; Katie gave him a look tiiat told 
much of lier womanly rule and sway ; and Berkely rose and went 
over to the window, where he mended a pen, that he had been 
biting, carefully for the next ten minutes. 

“ Miss Saunders is quite well again, I see,” said the unhappy 
man, at length. “ Berkely says she was very ill last night.” 

“ Much better, at least,” Larry hastened to say, as if silence 
were not pleasant to him ; “ she has seemed shocked and broken 
ever since Uncle Terry’s death. Poor girl, this has been a dreary 
h Hise this past year !” 

She came in, looking very ghostly in her own pallor and the 

Id* 


298 


THE MORIIISONS. 


added gloom of lier mourning dress, and said their mother wislied 
to see Katie and Larry in her own room, if they would go up. 

When they obeyed, she sate down, and, shading her face with 
her hands, wept silently. She had been seeing the last dress her 
pretty cousin was ever to wear, and there was a painful associa- 
tion in the color that brought back the blooming beauty of 
Katie’s bridesmaid, and made the change seem more terrible than 
it had done before. - 


Charlotte Waters never meant to make a scene, for she ap- 
peared as unconscious of Katie’s coldness as she did of her bro- 
ther’s presence ; and when she had thought of all that she could 
suggest or do, went away again as quietly as she had come. 
Lorry and Katie stayed with their mother, and Berkely and 
Joseph talked or kept silence in each others’ company till tea- 
time ; but Bess was not herself, as her lover’s vigilant eye saw 
plainly. Grieved and stricken to the earth, that was natural ; 
but nervous, trembling, starting at every sound, suddenly break- 
ing into tears, and as suddenly conquering them, this was not 
like the Bess he had ever seen before, and so he watched her, 
wondering and distressed at the change. 

When night drew on, and the family were all within their 
rooms, Larry came and stretched himself at full length on the 
lounge beside his stove, and fell to smoking a cigar and scatter- 
ing the ashes for a pastime. 

Now, he knew that Larry did not like him, that he even hated 
him, and was jealously suspicious of every kind feeling or good 
opinion he had won in the family ; and it was equally plain to 
him, that having an evil conscience, he was a coward, and could 
not sleep where there was no one stirring, or he could see no 
light or signs of life ; therefore he thrust himself upon him now, 
the other rooms being deserted, so Berkely did not value his . 
society, and settled himself to read awhile, regardless of his pre , 
sence. 

The smoke made the air heavy. .j 

“ If it annoys you, open the door,” said Larry, considerately. ; 
“^1 don’t sleep well, and it’s dull work lying awake, you know.” 


DOUBTS. 


299 


r>. rkely i^ot up and set the door wide open ; as he did so, a 
figure, wrapped in a long cloak, darted past and hurried down 
stairs, as the hall clock struck eleven. 

“ Who was that he was going to ask df Larry, but stopped 
himself, for the front door closed softly as he reached the win- 
dow ; and he drew aside his curtain and looked dowm into the 
street. 

He was glad he had not spoken, for now he saw that the 
figure was Bess Saunders, and that she hurried, like a black sha- 
dow, over the snow in company with a man. Berkely looked ^ 
again, and then dropped the curtain, and walked away, with his 
back towards Larry. Suddenly he turned, and said : 

“ I want to go to sleep, Larry ; and if you’d rather stay here, 
ril take your sofa, and go to bed in the next room.” 

Larry looked up lazily. 

“ Do,” he said, “ I’m tired and dispirited, so I shall smoke 
half the night, may be. That place will do capitally for a quiet 
fellow like you, but it’s too cramped to smoke in. Leave me the 
key of that wine-cooler of yours ; I want a glass of sherry.” 

Dropping it on the table beside him, Berkely betook himself 
to his new quarters, and putting out the light as he entered, 
flung himself into the great chair that Larry had appropriated 
from his store of comforts, and fell to thinking, with his head be- 
tween his hands. 

The dull misty grey of early morning came peeping slyly into 
his haggard face, still in the same position, and it mocked him 
by a reflection in the little mirror opposite. He had been keep- 
ing a dreary watch over his dying hopes, that he felt should 
never have lived at all, and trying to bury regrets and bitter dis- 
appointments that would rise again, despite the heavy stone he 
rolled upon their sepulchre, sealed with the word — unrequited. 


300 


THE MOIilllSONS. 


CHAPTER XL 

DUST TO DUST. 

That it must have been a strange errand that called Bess 
Saunders out into tlie streets at midnight, while her cousin lay still 
unburied, Berkely could not deny even to himself, but that it was 
a right and proper thing for her to go, he neither doubted nor 
questioned. It was the thought that she had interests and feel- 
ings he dared not share, that she had sought another friend, and 
trusted him completely, was what stung him to the soul, and 
banished sleep and rest. 

He met her in the hall as he came down ; looking calmer 
and more-at peace than he had seen her since Xelly’s death, but 
very pale and exhausted. 

There was something on her mind, for a faint flush dawned on 
her flice as he spoke to her, and she hurried past him up the 
stairs, as if anxious to avoid his eye. He scarcely saw her again 
until a few hours before the funeral, when the weeping family 
gathered into the parlors, whither the coffin had been brought, 
to listen to the prayers and service for the dead. 

By some strange whim, Larry shrunk from looking at the 
beautiful figure of his dead sister, and could only be prevailed 
upon through Katie’s expostulations to come down with his 
mother to where it lay in virgin white, dressed like a bride. He 
dropped into a chair near the door ; the rooms were filled — all 
the nearest friends, that had known the poor girl in childhood, 
were there, now bowed ^reverently in real grief, for Nelly had been 
beloved as such bright thoughtless creatures seldom are. 

]5erkely’s mind would wander from the grand words of the 
service of the church, although he strove to check it. He saw 
the long, black coffin, and marvelled at its length, she seemed 
such a little thing, as Joe Waters always called her. He felt 
glad to see the Daceys and the Parkers and the Littles all 
dressed in mourning, make a goodly show of respect for her, and 


DUST TO DUST. 


301 


noted the solemn faces of the youn<? men, shocked to see for the 
first time the awful change wrought in the once gay beauty. 
Then he thought of Mr. Little being dressed for a school-boy, 
and could almost see Nelly fastening a tow wig on his head, and 
being horrified at such a recollection, forced himself back to the 
words, “ ere the evil days come, and the days draw nigh when 
thou shalt say I have no pleasure in them.^’ But suddenly, he 
saw that the coffin trestles rested on the very spot of cai-pet 
where Nelly had stood when he first saw her ; he remembered 
her little foot, with a rosetted slipper, in that wreath of purple 
flowers, tapping them as she leant her hand upon the marble of 
the chimney-piece and talked to him. He checked himself only 
to lose himself once more, recalling all the faces he saw about 
him in different ways, and always in expressions strangely op- 
posed to those they wore now-. He brought his eyes and 
thoughts back to the coffiu. Changed in every feature so tha’t 
they who had known her best could scarcely trace the face they 
used to love, Nelly was still beautiful, though now it was a dead 
j beauty, cold and almost impalpable. It was not a shroud she 
I wore, nor yet a dress. She seemed rather to be enwrapt in a 
j cloud of something exquisitely soft and white, that hid the 
wasted outline of her form, and showed only the delicate little 
hands that held in their loose grasp upon her bosom a handful 
: of snow-drops. Berkely started as he saw the flowers, and re- 
' membered that Barnes had come an hour ago, and placed them 
j there, unconsciously fulfilling Uncle Terry^s Christmas dream, 
i “ Let us pray.” 

: Then they all sank down together, bowed in heart and spirit, 

I at the throne of Him who chasteneth whom He loveth. 

I “ Almighty and most merciful Father, who hath been pleased 
j in Thy wise providence to remove our young sister from us.” 
j Tears and sobs and one pitiful, heart-broken cry from the poor 
j mother, entered Berkely’s compassionate soul like a sudden 
I wound, and not being too wise or self-sustained to pray, he 
threw himself in supplication at the feet of Grod, and prayed for 
strength and the consolation of His love for the dear aged head 
sunk so low beside him. He raised her at last, and held his arm 


302 


THE MORRISONS. 


around her as she almost fell upon her dead child for a last 
embrace. Her son was not there ; he had slipped quietly away 
when the prayer began, for it was not in his way to be at home 
with sorrow. 

Mrs. Morrison^s hands tightened around the coffin when 
Berkely strove to draw her away, and Katie sank upon her hus- 
band’s shoulder, sobbing violently. Gently but firmly Bess ; 
loosened the fingers that clasped the dead, and Berkely and she ' 
together bore the fainting mother from the room. The white 
plumes of the hearse were waving in the street below, the car- 
riages were gathering, and the hall was filled with gentlemen in 
streaming black hat-bands as they took her up the stairs, meeting 
Larry coming down, rather flushed, aud with strong flavor of 
wine upon him. 

Into the desolate front chamber they all assembled, and Katie 
came and laid her head, weeping, in her mother’s lap, with a 
touch of nature in her trouble that was new and beautiful. 
Bess sate beside her, holding her hand in hers, but not speaking. 
At last there came that subdued noise and bustle of moving feet 
out of the hall, and the hearse creaked slightly under the burden 
it was to bear, and slowly started on its way. Carriage after 
carriage drove up, was filled, closed and drove on again, till by- 
and-by the whole procession started aud solemnly rolled out into . 
the main street, over the bridge, across the river to that strangg.^ 
new country, where friends meet without greeting — the burial 
ground. 

“ Never heed me, children dear,” said Mrs. Morrison, to her 
weeping daughter and niece. “ It’s a selfish sorrow that be- 
grudges heaven an angel. I’ll not be long behind Nelly, and I 
wish and pray this day that I may be as ready-and willing to go 
as she was, when the call comes.” 


OAK HILL. 


303 


CHAPTER XLI. 

OAK HILL. 

The day after the funeral, by slow degrees, the story of Juliet 
was unfolded to her unhappy mother-in-law, to whom it was less 
of a shock than they thought it would be. One great loss swal- 
lowed all slighter blows. She was distressed, but not so humbly 
bowed by it as Bess had dreaded. 

It was certainly one comfort in the somewhat uncongenial life 
led by Joseph Waters, Esq., that he looked upon the chief 
engineer of his domestic misfortunes as a singularly gifted woman. 
“ So strong and clear on all subjects,” as he confided to Bess, 
after she had seen her aunt sitting quietly talking to Larry of 
his loss, “ so very strong and clear, in fact, that I really am 
1 ashamed of my own weakness and confusion at times. I have 
’ been quite cut up by late events, you know. Juliet’s terrible 
I end — but I beg your pardon, I see I pain you by an allusion to 
i it — then Nelly’s loss, which, as the clergyman so properly said, 
i was her gain ; and to tell you the truth, all things considered, I 
am exceedingly glad to have the advice of such a woman as 
Katie.” 

“Do you mean in any particular direction?” asked Bess, 
quietly, but seriously, for she saw by the peculiar embarrassment 
and change of color he was subjected to, that Mr. Waters had 
been urged to the discharge of some unpleasant business connect- 
ed with the family. 

“ Why, yes, to be sure,” he broke out desperately, “ as I was 
just about to tell you, my dear Miss Saunders, Katie is of 
opinion that it is actually necessary for the health of her mother, 
and the pQace of the family, that you all go to Oak Hill to live 
for a while, and let the dreary associations with this old house 
die out of your minds.” 

Bess’s face grew still more grave and serious. 

“ Have you spoken of this to my aunt ?” she said. 


304 


THE MORRISONS. 


Well, I believe Katie has mentioned it, but not meeting with 
much encouragement, expects you to urge it more successfully.” 

He knew as soon as he had finished speaking that this was by no 
means what he intended to say, and sj he looked in great per- 
turbation towards his wife, who just entered the room in full 
street-dress prepared to return wdth her husband to their home 
ill West Park. 

Katie gave him a vexed glance, but came forward with an 
amiable air, and putting her hand on Bess’s shoulder, said, kindly : 

“ Poor, dear Bess, you’re really overwrought in body and 
mind, and need rest more than any one I know of.” 

“ I shall have plenty of rest,” said Bess, sighing drearily. 

“ We are but a little household now. Your mother and Berkely / 
and I — time will drag without occupation I’m afraid.” jj 

Katie looked at her with a quick glance of angry enquiry. 

“ You don’t name Larry,” she said ; “ is he to be ejected from, 
the household ?” V 

“ I did not know that he belonged to it,” said Bess, quietly. ' 
“ You knew he had none other, did you not ?” asked Katie, 
sharply. ' ' 

Bess bit her lips, and was silent — Katie went on : -k 

“ Larry, when he had the misfortune to make the wretched^ 
marriage, was as noble and promising a fellow as any sister *’ 
could be proud of. It was his ruin in every way ; the girl was \ 
demented from the first ; her mother’s family are all subject to f, 
fits of insanity, and she led him a pretty life, as we could see in ^ 
the glimpse we had of his establishment in New York.” 

Mr. Waters winced and changed color at this summary dis- V 
posal of his unfortunate niece, but said nothing. J 

“What has been done, can’t be undone. Larry has but a? 
trifle to boast of now in the way of fortune ; what with losing at .j 
pLiy at those German baths, while he left Juliet in one of hei | 
tantrums at Paris, and giving dinners, and drinking late and what ^ 
not, to drown trouble, he’s what might be called a ruined maii.j 
lie’s a widower now, thank heaven, with a chance to retrieve the 
past, and where, in the name of heaven, should he go to begin ii 
his mother s door is closed to him ?” • 


OAK niLL. 


305 


Bess still looked down, but said not one word. 

“ So you see that Oak Hill is the practical idea ; there he 
will be away from city excitement, in a measure. You can keep 
U23 just that kind of society and merry making that he used to 
enjoy ; never have the house dull or empty, or let him get bored 
thinking or brooding, and Larry will rise out of his trials and be 
a man again.” 

Bess, if she could have grown any paler than she was already, 
might be seen to do so, but she made no answer to all this. 

“ Might I hope that you would favor me with a reply ?” Ka- 
tie said, watching her with impatient anger. 

“ His mother, I think,” said Bess, in a strange, constrained 
voice, “ is the one to whom all this should have been said. Please 
wait till slie is able to hear such things calmly, and then tell her 
your plans.” 

“ Yow,” said Katie, losing all self-command, and looking 
around her in wrathful appeal, “ I want to know if this girl isn’t 
enough to drive one wild with her obstinate coolness ? Doesn’t 
she know, don’t we all know that she has established such a self- 
ish control over my mother, that she daren’t decide for herself or 
even think without consulting her ; and here she stands with 
the family welfare, the family credit and honor, I may say in her 
hands, and not one word of satisfaction will she give us.” 

“ What is all this ?” said Mrs. Morrison, coming in with a 
flush of astonishment on her pale face. “ I thought you were 
gone, Katie.” 

Instantly Katie smothered her wrath, and calming her tone 
to one of quiet pleasantry, answered : 

“ I was staying to discuss Oak Ilill with Bess, mother. I wish 
I could induce you to think of it before I go. I should be more 
relieved than I can express, if you would.” 

“Tiiink of Qak Hill I” repeated Mrs. Morrison, deliberately. 

We have a house there, thanks to Berkely, I believe, and the 
Warrens have been asking to rent it for the summer, when it’s 
repaired. I’ll think of anything you please, Katie, but what 
made you mention that ?” 

“ The Warrens arc fools,” cried her daughter, impetuously j 


306 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ let them go to the sea shore as they always do in summer. 
Mother, we want you to see the necessity of taking all the family 
to Oak Hill, and making it a regular homestead, that we can all 
look to for a pleasant visit and family parties, and all that, you 
understand.” 

“ I told you, Katie,” said her mother, decidedly, “ that as long 
as Bess was willing to keep me in this house, in this house I’ll 
stay.” 

“ Mother, listen to me a moment before you decide,” Katie 
urged, earnestly ; and then ske went over the old story of Larry’s 
misfortunes, even more pathetically, and threw into the scale of 
his losses the great gain of repentant experience. He was to live 
a new life, be a new man. What he had rescued from his gam- 
ing, drinking and betting debts, which she alluded to under the 
head of the indiscretions he was tempted into by his domestic 
misery, was to be devoted to the purchase of additional acres, 
the culture of which it would be his pleasure and occupation to 
superintend ; and Katie eloquently pictured the handsome farmer 
at his chimney corner, his mother on one hand and the clergy- 
man of the parish on the other, living a life of innocent usef&l- 
ness, that would make him a blessing and a pride to all who 
knew him. 

Tears must have washed all the mists and cobwebs out of the 
poor mother’s eyes ; she shook her head. 

“ I wish you may live to see that time, Katie,” she said ; “ I 
never expect to.” 

“ But you will go to Oak Hill,” faltered Katie ; “ you’ll leave 
this dreary place, and try to get cheerful among the buds and 
flowers of spring out there ?” 

“I will not, Katie. I told you before that this was my home, 
and has been for years ; and Nelly’s or your uncle’s death will 
never make me fly away from it. There’s room for Larry — 
though he seems bent on crowding your cousin Bcrkely’s life out 
of his body by turning his room into a smoke-stack, and reducing 
him to dress in the hall closet. If he can stay and take his por- 
tion with us ill our own way, he’s welcome, and I’m sure Bess 
will say so too ; but lor a man that didn’t know his own mind 


OAK HILL. 


307 


once, and that broke up the hopes and good fortune of a house- 
hold in one experiment, I never mean to give him the chance of 
scattering another. Lord forbid that I should sit in judgment 
on my own weak, ill-doing son ! It is enough that what is done, 
is done. Let him work his way back, since he has lOvSt it. When 
he makes the first right turn himself, there’ll be many a hand^ 
stretched out to help him.” 

Katie looked at Bess ; she was sitting with her back turned 
towards her aunt, her eyes were downcast, and she neither raised 
them, nor by any change of expression showed her interest in this 
decision. Yet Katie turned on her almost savagely. 

“ You’re satisfied now, are you not ?” she asked. “ You were 
the first to commend this marriage of his, and insist on its being 
for the best, when we had time and ability to remedy it ; but 
now, when the poor fellow needs all the help we can give him, 
when he stands alone, you contrive to find enemies for him in 
his own household, and his ruin will be on you, if to ruin he 
comes.” 

Bess got up, and with her hand upon her heart, as if it pained 
her, moved her lips and tried to speak, without succeeding in ut- 
tering a sound. Berkely had come in just as Katie began speak- 
ing, and half her venom was plainly meant for him, though he 
leaned against the chimney-piece and looked profoundly uncon- 
scious of its intent. 

Dr. Windell’s in the parlor, and can he see Miss Bess, just a 
minute, he says,” said Jenny, opening the hall door. 

Bess’s face changed instantly ; a quick glow succeeded its 
fearful pallor, and her eyes brightened. 

“ Bid him come in here,” said Mrs. Morrison, rising. “ Katie,” 
she continued, quietly turning to her daughter, “ till you can 
speak as becomes your mother’s daughter to Bess Saunders, never 
open your lips to her again.” 

“ I’ll go to him,” cried Bess, eagerly. “ Wait, Jenny, I’ll go 
to him.” 

Berkely turned and walked out through the side yard into the 
street. It was a spring day, but the weather was drearily blow- 
ing and snowing, and he wore no overcoat. 

20 


308 


THE MORRISONS. 


It was not worth his while to leave the house to avoid Dr. 
Windell. He was standing impatiently in the middle of the par- 
lor floor as Bess entered, and only gave a hasty nod of good 
inoniiiig before he rushed into conversation. 

“ She’s still quiet ; they’re both doing well ; and if you can 
come this evening, I’ll wait for you,” he said. 

“ Did she want to see me ?” Bess asked, eagerly. 

“ Oh, very much ; if she had not, I never would have left the 
important business of my morning visits to come here and tell you 
so ; but I haven’t another word to say. You can do all your 
talking when you meet. I cannot carry messages ; it interferes 
with my patients’ rights, you know. Grood morning ; I’ll look 
in and see Mrs. Morrison when I call to-night.” 

lie was gone so soon, ^hat in the next turning his carriage 
overtook Berkely, who was walking swiftly on. 

“ Halloa,” he cried, “ this is wretched weather for a prome- 
nade ; jump in, and I’ll set you down where you will.” 

But Berkely, merely in pantomime, assured him that where he 
would go did not lie in the Doctor’s way, and hurried down the 
next street. 


That evening, when Larry and Berkely and Mrs. Morrison 
sate down to tea at their shrunken table, Jenny said again, 
“ Dr. Windell,” and instantly Bess sprang up, and made haste to 
meet him in the hall. 

He was standing impatiently stamping the light flakes of snow 
from his boots on the map, and making all those demonstrations 
of ehiifing at an instant’s delay, that seemed odd in a man who 
wouhl spend a long night unweariedly watching the crisis of a 
level-, or attending the mean bedside of an obscure sufferer. 

“At last,” he murmured, resignedly, as Bess appeared. “I 
thonglit I should have the pleasure of vSpeuding an hour in the 
draught here ; that woman of yours looks so implacably at foot- 
marks, that I didn’t attempt to go into the parlor.” 

“ I’m ready,” cried Bess, in answer, catching up a cloak and 
hood that were hidden under one of the tall, old-fashioned, 
carved hall-chairs. 


L aery’s habits. 


309 


Your aunt,” said the doctor, hesitatingly, “ will not she in- 
quire where you are ? You, who were always so thoughtful, 
seem strangely careless about suspicion now.” 

She paused and looked back at the dining-room door with a 
troubled expression of face. 

“ You’re right,” she said at last. “ I seem to have lost all 
thought or power of contrivance. Let them think I have gone 
to Charlotte’s, for I cannot go back now and tell them any- 
thing.” 

It was a wretchedly inclement night ; the wind was blowing 
gusts of sleety snow round every corner ; but neither the doctor 
nor she seemed to feel it, for they started out courageously, and 
walked away in the direction of Myers Lane, talking earnestly in 
a low tone as they went. 


CHAPTER XLII. 
larry’s habits. 

Did you say it was the doctor wished to speak to Miss Bess, 
Jenny ?” asked Mrs. Morrison, after tea had been cleared away, 
and Berkely and Larry had sate brooding silently in different 
parts of the room for some time. 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Jenny; “ and they went out together. I 
heard the hall-door close, and looked down the street after 
them.” 

“ They’re maybe gone over to Charlotte Waters together,” 
said Mrs. Morrison, and she sighed deeply, and folded her hands 
together, as she sate in her easy-chair, very unlike the cheerful, 
busy woman she used to be, always with some pretense for occm 
pation, although her tasks were seldom accomplished. Sighing 
heavily had become habitual to her now, and she would sit for 
hours witli her hands folded and her eyes cast down, looking 
back into the past, and shrinking from the present. 

“ Miss Bess didn’t go in the direction of Grove-street,” Jenny 


310 


THE MORRISONS. 


volunteered to inform them. She turned jest the other way, 
and they was both a walking very fast.” 

Larry rose from his sofa-corner, and went over to his mother’s 
side. When Jenny retired to her evening meal, in company with 
Ellen O’Toole, he said, keeping a keen eye meanwhile on Berkely, 
who had become very busy making notes with a pencil in his 
pocket-book. 

“ Dr. Windell is just the man I always thought Bess would 
fancy; but I don’t think he’ll make her. happy in the end. Do 
you, mother ?” 

“ Do I what ?” she asked, sharply, turning on him with sud- 
den rancor. “ What new evil could you invent, if you tried, 
Larry ?” 

“ No evil,” Larry returned, quietly, still watching his cousin, 
“ but simply a fact. Dr. Windell is an excellent man, and my 
Cousin Bess is old eno igh and wise enough to chose well.” 

“ Your Cousin Bess has no thought of choosing, Larry,” his 
mother declared, angrily. “ She knows too well what she is to 
us all, and what we would do without her. She’ll wait awhile 
till my troubles are over, before she takes a thought of such 
tilings.” 

Larry shook his head, and smiled sadly. 

“ It would be selfish as well as impossible to expect such sacri- 
fices of Bess,” he said, gently. “ I saw it from the first, and 
thought you all did, too.” 

He looked innocently from one to the other as he said this, 
and his mother, greatly disturbed, appealed to Berkely. 

“ Had you ever such a thought about Bess, Berkely ?” she 
asked. “I think Larry sees more than is before his eyes.” 

Berkely laid down his book, and came out of the shadow 
where he stood. 

“ I do not know,” he said, slowly, and without any sign of 
perturbation, to Larry’s great disappointment. “ I don’t think 
it right to make guesses about such a thing ; but if it is so, I can 
imagine no two people more worthy of each other.” 

“ ’Deed then, I can,” said his aunt, doggedly. “ He’s not my 
choice for Bess, though he’s all I could wish as a friend and doc- 


LARRY ’S HABITS. 311 

tor. I heard him tell once that some of his stock was German— 
either his father or his grandfather — and that’s enough for me , 
there’s no people I have as little leaning towards as the Du?ch.” 

Larry laughed. 

“ Why, mother,” he said, “ that’s simply absurd. They’re a 
great people, and stand high as a nation.” 

“ Let them stand as high as they will, Larry, I wouldn’t 
begrudge them their heads in the clouds ; all I say is, that I 
would never, of my own free choice, meddle or make with 
them.” 

Having thus avowed her views, his mother relapsed into silence 
and sighing once more ; while Larry, determined to see how 
Berkely bore the idea he had striven to present to his mind, 
drew him into conversation on the subject of the Oak Hill im- 
provements, and required, from his knowledge as a builder and 
improver, an estimate of the costs of refitting the establish- 
ment. 

“ For Bess dearly loves this old house,” he said, “ and when 
the time comes for a change — I don’t say that it will come 
soon, they are both quiet, cautious people — this will be their 
residence. He will give up Grove street, and come here to 
please her, and Katie’s idea of Oak Hill will be acknowledged a 
good one, after all.” 

He stole a sidelong glance at his cousin’s face as he spoke, 
trusting to see him wince at the prospect, but Berkely only said : 

“ Yery true,” and looked as unconscious of pain or annoyance 
as if he had never bad a different plan for Bess Saunders’ 
future. 

Patiently and quietly he followed Larry’s guiding finger as it 
wandered over an outspread plan of the Oak Hill house, and 
suggested from his own experience an addition here, or a window 
there, as the case might be, and gave his views about the price 
of every thing that would be necessary to render it the handsome 
house Larry was determined to make it. 

“ Isn’t Bess in ?” cried Mrs. Morrison, starting up. 

She had been dozing, and the striking of the hall clock, as it 
told ten, had roused her. 


312 


THE MORRISONS. 


“Not yet/' said Larry, hastening to reply , “ but don’t stay, 
mother, “ I’ll sit up for her.” 

“ It’s the first time in her life she ever required the service 
from any one, and I’ll do it myself,” she returned, “ but al- 
though she settled herself quietly in her chair, it was plain that 
she was astonished at this unusual proceeding of Bess’s, and not 
a little ruffled by it. 

Berkely said good-night, and walked out into the hall on his 
way up stairs, just as the key turned softly in the dead latch, and 
Bess’s voice was heard saying : 

“ I am sorry you have had such a long walk this wretched 
night, Mr. Barnes, but I’m greatly obliged to you for coming.” 

In another minute the gust of wind she brought with her ex- 
tinguished the lamp that Jenny had placed on a tall chair for 
her, and she ran into Berkely’s arms in the darkness, and utter- 
ing a shriek, started back, trembling with fright. 

“ It is only I,” said Berkely, gently ; “ I am sorry to frighten 
you ; I thought you saw me.” 

Hearing his voice, she clung to him an instant, and said in a 
tone of intense relief : 

“ Oh, I am glad it is you, so very, very glad I I am weak 
and silly, and utterly without self-control ; forgive me.” 

For a moment he held her close, and felt the soft curls of her 
hair against his lips, and the wild beating of her heart against 
his bosom ; the next the door at the further end of the hall 
opened, and Mrs. Morrison’s voice said : 

“ Is it Bess ? Well, I’ll soon know where she’s been this 
night.” 

He felt her tremble at the words, and heard her whisper ; 

“ What shall I say, oh what shall I say ?” 

Suddenly remembering Barnes’ ability to present objects of 
charity, he said : 

“ Shall I say you went to see a poor woman who was ill — 
some one Barnes knows of ?” 

“ Oh, yes,” she cried, “ do, do ; that is right, do 1” 

“ And is it for the sake of some worthless body, may be an 
impostor, that you kept us in such a state these three hours 


Larry’s habits. 


313 


asked her aunt, in some displeasure, as she heard Berkely^s ac- 
count ; she must have been in a bad way, indeed, to have called 
you out such weather as this, witli the wind blowing like mad. 
You’re nearly dead, I’ll warrant, and had better get to your bed 
at once, before you’re worse.” 

She went back to call Ellen O’Toole to bring warm water 
being intent on a foot-bath, and charging Larry to come quickly 
with the light he held ; he was fain to comply, leaving them 
alone together. 

Gathering her damp cloak around her, she looked up for the 
first time, and Berkely saw by the lamp ’ he had relighted, that 
her face was white and her eyes strangely large and brilliant as 
if with fever. An impulse to implore her for the sake of heaven 
to trust in him, was strong in his heart, but it did not reach his 
lips. 

She thanked him earnestly for speaking for her. 

“ I am really not myself,” she said, “ but I have not lost my 
gratitude.” 

“You should be very grateful to a man whose devotion will 
even invent a lie to serve you,” he said, bitterly. 

“ No, no : it was true,” she returned, in excited haste. “ I 
beg you to believe me, it was true, indeed it was.” 

She did not wait for another word, but bounded past him and 
ran up the stairs into her own room. 

Larry had taken entire possession of his old quarters once 
more, and so Berkely, removing such articles as he held indis- 
putably his own, had gone to occupy the bright and airy cham- 
ber that had once been Katie’s and Nelly’s. 

Bess had tearfully put away the little cushions for the toilet, 
and other pretty nothings wrought by the delicate fingers that 
had done their task on earth, and there was nothing to remind 
him of his dead cousin but such little gifts as she had fashioned 
for him, and which he brought away with him from the invaded 
apartment that had once been his. 

There Larry lay or lounged the night away in the full glare of 
the double gas burners, for the one strong feature developed in 
him by his late trouble was his horro^ of darkuess and loneliness. 

y 


S14 


THE MORRISONS. 


He was now always the last to retire, and apparently did the 
most of his sleeping in daylight, for his room was filled with con- 
trivances to wile away the night ; books of fun and anecdote, 
comic drawings, solitaire games, etc., not forgetting a choice 
collection of wines and cigars, of which the apartment was at all 
times redolent. He had begun to show signs of these irregu- 
larities in his handsome face, that was gradually changing the 
character of its beauty and becoming a heavier, grosser style. 
That any outrage he should put upon his nature could destroy 
it, seemed impossible. It belonged to every feature, to every 
glance of his eye, every curve of his lip, as innately as the grace 
that was part of every careless motion of his hand. 

Katie bad alluded to his drinking and riotous living when 
abroad ; but when he first returned, he seemed rather to have 
bceu an invalid than a fast liver. That was the first shock of 
artificial excitement, and his color and strength gave way before 
it. Now he was existing daily with sucli a stimulant, and had 
grown florid, and looked something older than his years under its 
forcing system. The only curtailing he had donj in the way of 
expenditure, that Berkely could see, was that he lived off his 
mother, and abjured New York society. There was a reason 
for that, he could guess. Those who had known the Waters, and 
had been accustomed to look on Juliet as a light-hearted belle 
and a beauty, were slow to realize the utter desolation that had 
fallen on her young life as being entirely causeless, and not ac- 
counting satisfactorily for the change, had agreed in rather cut- 
ting her lord. Thus it was quite possible that he had found the 
place uncongenial. As far as a pair of fast horses, kept at livery, 
went, and membership in one of the most fashionable clubs in 
the city, with suppers and dinners thereat, whenever Burleigh 
Place was dull, Larry Morrison kept up his old state, and becom- 
ingly clad in mourning, promenaded the gay streets, not lost to 
his old interest in their fair frequenters. 

His mother, although she was keenly alive to the hollowness 
of his repentance, was not entirely free from the effect of the 
charm with which he had always swayed the whole family, and 
would add, after every rebuke she administered to his faulty ac- 


LAREY^S HABITS. 


315 


tions, a private sigh and an under- tone reservation that “ lie 
seemed born to temptations, and might the Lord guide him into 
the right way, for he was sorely drawn from it by his own 
gifts.” 

To Bess his presence was constant martyrdom, but her quiet 
composure where he was involved puzzled even his keenly selfish 
eye to decipher. 

That she rejected him in any and every light, except as his 
mother^s son, he knew in his heart, and it was iu part this very 
knowledge that made her charming to him. To win her, know- 
ing that her soul revolted at the thought of him, was something 
to fire his waning energies, and Larry woke to his old scheming 
arts when he looked at her proud and womanly beauty. 

“ A girl to win and work for,” he thought ; “ I was blind 
once to think of the other he shuddered even in thought, for 
“ the other ” was not a cheerful theme to him. He was afraid 
to think of the past, though he neither bewailed nor repented of 
it. Sometimes, as he turned this over in his mind, he acknow- 
ledged to himself that it was for the best that all had been as it 
had. “ He had lost a year or two, and something of his fresh- 
ness and spirits ; but he had seen the world and gained a certain 
experience.” The world he had seen was chiefly the recklessness 
of Parisian life among men of his own class, or the gambling ex- 
citement at the German Baths ; and the certain experience was 
the wreck of poor Juliet’s wealth, among which the fast horses 
might be styled a couple of items. 

He rose late and breakfasted alone, for it was Bess’s habit to 
elude him at these times, and be busied above stairs. Then lie 
would take a turn at the morning papers at the club-rooms, drop 
in on Katie’s morning receptions, her husband’s business house, 
or Berkely’s dgwn town office, and saunter back for dinner. 
After that came his drive — the event of the day — in which ho 
gained all the buoyanc}^ that belonged to the monotony of such 
a life. Sometimes the family were not enlivened by his presence 
again until the next day, for he was often out at late suppers, 
and returned towards morning, with his latch-key as a means of 
admittance. 


316 


THE MOKEISONS. 


One' morning Bess found liiai up unusuall}' early, and break- 
fasting with the family. 

“ I have promised to drive Katie out of town a little way,” he 
explained ; and then he laughed softly, though not very plea- 
santly, to himself. “ Do you know, I think Katie should have 
been one of those French women who made themselves famous 
by their finessing and intriguing, and all that ? She is used to 
society now, and can’t live without it, so she invents a plan for 
being religiously gay in her double mourning.” 

Mrs. Morrison looked severely at her son. 

“ Are you so in want of discourse, that you take to reviling 
the motives of your own sister ?” she asked. 

Larry laughed again, and this time more hea.rtily. 

“ I’m admiring my own sister, mother,” he said. “ You are 
tlie one who do us both injustice. What could be brighter than 
her turning this rusting time to account, and cultivating the 
church people ? Fashionable church people, too, who know a 
real gem when they see her, and so elect Katie one of a board 
of managers of the Orphan’s Home. That’s where I’m going to 
drive her this morning. There’s quite delightful society at the 
Board, and Katie has won herself honors for her efficient ser- 
vices already. They’re preparing a May Festival, to be for 
the benefit of the Institute, and she’s invaluable there, you 
know.” 

No one ventured a comment on Katie’s employment. She 
had not been to see them since the day of her proposition con- 
cerning Oak Hall, a fact that greatly distressed Bess. She had 
urged her aunt to go up to West Park with Larry, but received 
the one undeviating reply. 

“ When Katie wants to see me, she knows where I am, and if 
she’s in no better mood than I saw her last, we had better bo 
a])iirt a while longer.” 

Bess now took occasion to press her again. 

“ Do go up to Katie’s this morning, aunt,” she said, earnestly, 
“ If you only stay an hour or two, it will do you both good, and 
gi'/e me so much pleasure.” 

“ Wha.t would take me up there, when she’s going off with 


Larry’s habits. 317 

Ijarry, as lie vsays ?” asked lier aunt ; but Bess, who saw in her 
tone some signs of relenting, urged her the more. 

“ She will only be gone an hour or two, and Larry will come 
for you after that, will you not, Larry 

“ I will promise anything you ask me to, Bess,” her cousin 
answered, gallantly, “ even to the half of my kingdom.” 

“ It would be better, Bess,” said her aunt, at length, “ it 
would be better to send for her to come in the evening. Larry 
tell your sister to come down to tea. I desire her ; and ask 
Charlotte Waters, too, Bess.” 

Larry leant back in his chair, and his brows came together. 

“ Confound that woman,” he said, bitterly ; “ why should she 
be here ?” 

“ Why ?” repeated his mother. “ I’ll tell you why, Larry, 
and you can turn it over in your own mind, and think if you’ll 
come, too. From first to last, she’s been a steady friend — she 
nursed Bess through an illness that came near being her death, 
and she has shown us nothing but true friendship and warm feel- 
ing. Some of us have made her a bad return, and having 
wronged her and hers, feel hardly towards her ; but if you and 
Katie sit down at my table to-night, you must sit down at peace 
with them that’s at peace with me. We had an owre solemn 
guest lately to be having a merry-making ; it’s more like a sacra- 
ment of peace and good-will. Write a note for old Dr. Dacey 
and Dr. Windell. 1 want to bind up old sores, and if any of 
you ever probes the wound anew, it may look to you for heal- 
ing.” 

Larry said nothing ; he had a pretty clear idea that he had 
said enough already. Berkely went out, and Bess wrote four 
ceremonious little notes in her aunt’s name, that one addressed to 
lier Cousin Katie, being fully as much so as the rest, and Larry 
d< ‘parted as messenger. 

About an hour afterwards, as she was busied in the dining- 
room with her week’s accounts, and the few extra preparations 
she was making for tea, she was astonished by her aunt’s ap- 
pearance with a large linen apron tied over her black dress. 

“ 1 am going to make a loaf of seed-cake,” she said. “ Dr. 


318 


THE MORBISONS. 


Dacej will fancy it, I’m sure. Do you know, dear, I haven’t 
done such a thing since before your Dncle Bernard died ? The 
doctor was a young man then, and drank tea with us when Larry 
was dressed in a braided frock, and Nelly was a little thing in the 
nurse’s arms.” She sate down and shaded her face with her 
hand ; large tears rolled over her cheeks, and fell upon the 
polished linen in her apron, as her heart went back to the pretty, 
rosy little creature, whose picture, as an infant, hung over the 
mantelpiece. 

“Dear little Nell, she was her father’s darling,” she mur- 
mured. “ She’s at her heavenly rest now. Blessed be His 
name.” 

It was in this solemn vein she kneaded the seed-cake, and Bess, 
seeing that she attached an unspeakable importance to the occa- 
sion, prayed in her heart that Katie might come in the proper 
spirit. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

A PEACE PARTY. 

For the first time since Nelly’s burial, the parlors were warmed 
and lighted that evening, and old Dr. Dacey came in and saluted 
his hostess with all the solemn ceremony the occasion required. 
Then came Charlotte Waters, who was not exactly herself, from ; 
the internal struggle she had undergone relative to meeting her . 
arch-enemy, Lawrence Morrison. That she had conquered her 
repugnance in a measure, appeared from the civil, though not ' 
cordial greeting she extended to him ; as for him, he met her as 
if there were no other feelings but friendship and sympathy in ' 
the wide world. Then came Katie and her husband, she very • 
subdued, as one who had forgiven, though she scarcely dared ^ 
hope to forget ; he, earnest and demonstrative in his friendliness, j 
as if to make up for the want of it in the rest. Mrs. Morrison, • 
looking almost grand in her deep and quiet sorrow, tempered by 


A PEACE PARTY. 


319 


endurance, sate in state at the head of her table, where there 
were two vacant seats, and two i)Iaces laid for guests that were 
not waited for. Katie dropped into the seat beside her husband, 
and saw that one opposite her where her sister had sate for so 
many years ; then she glanced at the empty chair at her mother’s 
left hand, and tears — no common expression with her — forced 
themselves into her eyes. Her mother looked at her steadily 
and she returned the gaze, whilst Dr. Dacey said grace. Some 
one began to help her to the dainties. 

“ Touch nothing till you have tasted this,” said her mother, 
holding a dish towards her. “ It’s a seed-cake of my own make, 
the first I’ve baked in over twenty years.” 

Katie took and ate it silently ; she knew her mother meant 
that in the breaking of that bread, there must be a bond of peace 
between them. 

Dr. Winded had not come in when they sate down ; he now 
entered, and fell instinctively into the right place, beginning to 
cat as unceremoniously as if he had been there from the first. 

He was the one cheerful element of the company, and through 
his influence, Larry and Dr. Dacey rallied into conversation, and 
a subdued kind of cheerfulness seemed to dawn on the party. 

He told them odd adventures of his early life, for he had been 
an Eastern traveler, and had spent nearly ten years in going to 
and fro over the face of the earth. He challenged Berkely for 
Chinese information, and brought Larry out on Parisian 
themes. 

“ Were you ever at the Morgue T’ asked Dr. Dacey of Larry, 
forgetting how mal apropos the question was to a man whose 
wife had drowned herself. 

“ No,” he answered, hastily ; “ I am not fond of such hor- 
rors.” 

Katie darted a quick glance at the doctor’s placid face to dis- 
cover if he meant to offend, and seeing that he was utterly ob- 
livious of a double meaning, said, by way of change : 

“ But of all the fearfully interesting things I ever read, the 
life of that dreadful poisoning countess is the most so. I met a 
gentleman, some time ago, who had been abroad for years, and 


320 


THE MORRISONS. 


ill his portfolio of drawings, the faces of these celebrated female 
poisoners made quite a figure.’^ 

“ What an odd taste I” said Charlotte Waters. “They were 
the Countess de Buvillers, La Foisin and Madame La Farge, I 
sup[)Ose.” 

“ Yes,” continued Katie, quite forgetting her recent cou- 
Bideration for Larry ; “ and the head of a handsome woman — 
some later monstrosity of nature — who was famous for having 
her rivals in love, or ambition, drop off one by one, without any 
explanation of the cause of their death. They found the body 
of a beautiful girl, supposed to have been drowned, but when 
they held a post mortem examination, they found she had really 
died by poison, and this fact led to the apprehension of the 
arsenic heroine, whose cruel mania fell very little short of Ma- 
dame de Buviller’s in the number of its victims.” 

“ Take care, Mr. Morrison, take care, or you will ruin your 
mothers damask.” It was Doctor Winded who spoke, and he 
addressed Larry, who had, at the commencement of the conver- 
sation, poured himself out a large glass of wine, but who, in 
raising it to his lips, had been seized with a nervous tremor, that 
scattered it in large drops over the snowy cloth. 

His mother looked over at him in apparent displeasure. 

“ It’s just what comes of having wine at a tea-table. Larry 
brought that fine idea home with him from France, for he never 
had it before. Now, he can do nothing without a glass of this, 
or that foreign stuff ; half poison, I’ll warrant it, and so seen on 
his nerves. I’m twice his age, but I’d be ashamed of myself if I 
had such an unsteady hand.” 

“ He must pull up,” said the doctor, carelessly ; but his keen 
glance did not match his tone. “ At less than thirty, a man has 
no excuse but fast living for such tremors ; he’ll come under mj 
hands presently, I see.” 

The mere fact of a trembling hand or changing color being 
noticed in a party of such close friends, did not account for the 
dead-white anger of Larry’s face as he listened. He was so 
choked with wrath that he found it impossible to speak clearly, 
and the few words he did utter, were of a character to make his 


A PEACE PAETY. 


321 


hearers thankful there were no more. He swore in a gasping 
sort of way at impertinent curiosity, and threw off the remain- 
der of the wine with an attempt at ease, that took his breath 
and almost suffocated him. 

Bess, in terror at this disagreeable feature in her aunt’s effort 
to make a solemn reunion, began to speak earnestly on an en- 
tirely different subject, and Katie, disturbed for the sake of the 
family appearance, warmly seconded her in her efforts to restore 
a calmer spirit. 

But Larry was not at ease ; he looked covertly, from time to 
time, at Dr. Winded, and kept at a distance from him during all 
the rest of the evening. As a desperate effort for counter ex- 
citement, he went boldly up to the ottoman where Charlotte 
Waters sat talking to his mother, and asked her to tell him 
something about the new River Road. 

“ The old one is shamefully broken,” he said, “ and you drive 
so much, that I know you must be perfectly au fait with them 
ail.” 

“ I like that road,” she said, sharply ; “ but pray, don’t try 
it on that account ; ray tastes are not likely to suit you.” 

Without in any wise noticing her effort to repel anything he 
might say, he drew a chair near, and leaning on the arm of his 
mother’s, spolie of the beauty of the early spring, and commended 
Charlotte’s love of out-door life. 

“ Your little front garden on Grove Street is a delight to me 
in passing,” he said ; “ that tiny fountain with its base of shells 
and the young blossoms just beginning to peep among them.” 

“ Yes,” she said, quietly ; “I can easy imagine you absorbed 
in such innocent pleasures. You cultivate little pots of mignoii- 
nette in your own windows, do you not ?” 

“ Indeed, no,” said his mother, answering for him in good 
faith. “ Larry is one of those who likes to look at complete 
beauty of any kind, but as to rearing or attending it, it would 
fare badly if it looked for it to him.” 

“ And you think it possible he could neglect or injure helpless 
beauty ?” Charlotte asked, bending her eyes sternly on him. 

Larry felt that Juliet’s aunt was looking at him, and he 


322 


THE MOKEISOHS. 


blessed the chance tliat made his mother oblivious of her venge- 
ful bitterness. 

“ I never knew him to bother with them, one way or 
another,’^ said that placid matron ; “ any more than to make 
mention of them, as he did just now. But, Charlotte, do you 
know that Bess makes no a-do over flowers or the like, and 
I’m sure there’s no want of feeling in her.” 

All three turned their eyes towards where she stood, and 
Berkely, who heard the words, looked also. She was stand- 
ing before Nelly’s picture, and Dr. Windell had joined her 
for the first time that evening. He had only time to say a 
few words, but her face glowed and her eyes brightened as 
she listened to them. Presently her lips trembled, and great 
tears gathered on her long lashes and rolled slowly down 
her cheeks. 

“ What can it be ?” thought Larry, suspiciously. 

“ It’s Nelly they’re speaking of,” was his mother’s con- 
clusion. 

Berkely did not dare to think ; and Bess, catching their 
glances, turned away quickly, and wiped the tears from her 
face secretly. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

PENITENCE. 

After that night, there was no apparent break in the 
friendly intercourse of the families. The Waters camo 
yften to Burleigh Place ; and, once in awhile, Bess and her 1 
aunt went up to West Park and Grove Street. Larry was 
Katie’s guest almost constantly, or, at least, he reported him- 
self so in his mother’s establishment, where his presence was 
on 13^ periodical. i 

The fact that there was, by some combination of circum- J 
stances, an end to all confidences and apparent sympathy be* ] 


PENITENCE. 


323 


tween Bess and Berkely, was a delightful knowledge to him. 
Some intuitive perception of Dr. WiudelPs nature and habits 
made him fearless of him in the character of a rival, though 
strangely suspicious of him as an enemy. To hear of him 
being at the house during his absence, always' threw him in- 
to a state of nervous trepidation, and made an instant appli- 
cation to his decanter of Burgundy, that stood on the side 
board, an apparent necessit3\ He would contrive to question 
Bess about him suddenly, hoping to throw her off her guard 
in answering ; but the subject of these investigating remarks 
was always himself, and his habits, never anything that 
showed a consciousness of Bess being the object of the doc- 
tor’s regards. 

One night, returning flushed and a trifle excited from one 
of the long drives that Katie was alwaj^s reported to share 
with him, he asked, suddenly : 

“ Was the doctor here adding, “I know he was, for I 
saw the carriage turn out as I came up.” 

“Yes,” said Bess, quietly; “he came to ask about my 
aunt’s head ; it has ached sadly lately, and this morning I 
wrote to beg him to drop in on his rounds.” 

Mrs. Morrison was looking pale and ill, and lay back in 
her chair, with a bandage on her forehead, which her dutiful 
son had not yet noticed. 

“ What, mother, are you a patient ?” he asked, seeing her 
attitude. “ I’m sorry for you, hut it is really a relief to 
think that man has something to come here about ; he came 
here so often with no avowed object in view.” 

“ Are you meaning Dr. Windell, when you say that, 
Larry ?” asked his mother. “ If you are, change your man- 
ner, for there is no better friend of ours lives, than he. I’m 
sure what he did for the dear girl that’s gone, could not 
be told.” 

Larry threw his hat down, and called Jenny to bring his 
dressing gown. 

“I’m thoroughly tired,” he said, “and that man always 
puts me in an ill humor.” 

21 


324 


THE MOEEISONS. 


Berkely came in, looking pale and worn out 

‘‘You’re working too hard, Berkely,” said his aunt. “I 
thought you had made up your mind that business should 
never make you a slave again.” 

Berkely smiled, not very cheerfully, and then sighed with 
all his heart. 

“ It takes us a long time to learn our own minds, aunt. I 
didn’t know mine then, it seems, or how necessary occupation 
was to its health. I shall go abroad again for a year or 
two, I think,” he added, in a tone that showed the avow^al 
cost him an effort. 

Bess looked up, suddenly, and every shade of color died 
out of her face. 

“ Oh, Mr. tMoirison,” she faltered, “ how sorry I am to 
hear it — ” She stopped, hastily, and seemed to check her 
feeling. Berkely looked at her a moment, with a changed 
face, but the next both recovered their’ former manner, and 
relapsed into silence. 

Not so Mrs. Morrison ; to lose Berkely then, seemed to 
her a blow greater than she could bear, so she remonstrated 
with an earnestness and ardor that swallowed the recollec- 
tion of the headache entirely. 

Larry made no comment, but, considering this a favorable 
opportunity to take Bess at a disadvantage on the subject of 
Dr. Windell’s interest in the family, asked : 

“ W as the doctor anxious about my nerves, to-day. Cou- 
sin Bess ?” 

“ About your nerves ?” she repeated. “ I don’t know what 
you mean.” 

“ Then he allowed me to rest this time, and had nothing 
to ask about my tastes and habits, eh ?” he went on, deter- 
mined to make h(?r give him her attention, the more so as he 
saw her eyes and tliougiits were on her aunt and Berkely, 
who were still talking (earnestly, the one dissuading, and the 
other reasoning about the voyage to Oiiina. 

Bess brought her eyes HFid attention back to Larry, and 
considered his question a moincut. 


PENITENCE. 


325 


“ No,” she said ; “ I really cannot understand you. If Dr. 
Winded finds you so interesting a subject of question and 
surmise, he never shares this theme with me. I do not re- 
member hearing him mention you at all.” 

“ Baffled,” he thought to himself ; “ but that man does 
mean mo ill ; I can see it in his eye when we meet, and I 
d(tii’t feel secure while he and Bess have these talks 
together.” 

Thinking this, he applied himself steadily to the Burgundy, 
while his mother and Berkely talked, and Bess listened, with her 
face shaded by her hand. He had come home at Nelly’s death, 
with the one determined object of gaining from Bess Saunders a 
pledge to become his wife, not that he thought she loved him ; 
he had read her heart in her words when they had spoken toge- 
ther alone, and acknowledged that there was no feeling there for 
him but dread and distrust ; but his faith was unbounded where 
his own personal power was in question, and he trusted implicitly 
to his avowed repentance and her womanly joy in saving him*. 
from ruin at the price of self-devotion, and was convinced he 
should win her. 

The prospect did not look so promising for it now, but his 
vanity would never allow him to think he had failed. He had 
lost his keenness to win, and must rally again — that was his con- 
clusion. 

He stretched himself on the sofa,, and watched her through his 
heavy eyelids, that were beginning to close under the deadening 
effect of a loug day’s list of excesses. 

She was looking very beautiful, and he swore a drunken oath 
to his own heart that she should be his, and then laughed in- 
wardly at the worn and troubled face of the man he knew would 
gladly die for her sake, and whom he was rejoiced at the thought 
of thwarting. 

Berkely could not rest that night, so he took to walking his 
floor softly, and going over and over again, in his own mind, 
Bess’s hasty exclamation at his announced departure. It was 
the only one drop of balm in what was to him the bitterest cup 
he ever drank ; but she had given him no other. Though he 


326 


THE MORRISONS. 


watched and waited eagerly for other sound or glo,nce that 
would show a second thought, she gave none, but had sat qui- 
etly listening, with her face averted, so that he could not read 
its meaning. 

There was no light in Larry’s room — he saw that as he walked 
out into the hall — and suddenly remembering that he had left 
him sleeping on the lounge an hour or two before, he bethought 
himself to go down and rouse him for his mother’s sake — for his 
own, he would have let him lie till doomsday. 

The light shone from the dining-room into the hall, and he 
heard voices speaking, through the open door. Leaning, as he 
descended, over the balusters, he looked down, to see Larry 
thrown into a half clinging, half suppliant attitude at his mo- 
ther’s feet, clasping her hand in his, and praying in a broken 
voice : 

“ Forgive me, mother, forgive and pity me. I love her in 
such a wretched jealous way, her coldness maddens me. I have 
always loved her, as you know, and her first rebuff drove me to 
that step that has sealed my life with misery ; now it is that 
which makes me strive to forget myself, even in this miserable 
oblivion.” 

“ God pity and guide you 1” she answered with feeling. And 
Berkely stole softly up stairs again, without making his presence 
known to either. 

Another shade was added to the gloom of that long night for 
him, the fea,r that Larry would win his mother to a belief in his 
lying love, and that, in hope to save her villainous son, she might 
be brought to urge the sacrifice of her niece. 

“ I will speak to Bess,” he determined at length. “ I should 
have spoken long ago had there been the least ground-work for 
my presumption. When I tried to put|t in words, it seemed so 
des})icably selfish and unfounded, that I should have despised my- 
self for uttering it.” 

Berkely’s worst fears seemed realized next day by Mrs. Mor- 
rison’s manner to her son. He was looking both pale and ill, 
and she was solicitous and kind, without a tinge of severity. At 
breakfast they were a silent party, Larry scnrcely ate at all, and 


VIOLENCE. 


327 


his mother Wiitched him sadly as he swallowed a cnp of strong 
coffee, without milk or sugar, o,nd saw his white, shapely baud 
tremble as he held it to his lips. He noted Bess^s glance in the 
same direction, and wondered at its meaning, as he had often 
done before, for he saw that she shrunk from speaking or even 
being near her cousin ; but that she would look at him, when she 
thought herself unobserved, with such a strange, inexplicable 
gaze, that he could not solve, try as he would ; but which was 
neither made up of fear or dislike, but rather of pity, tempered 
with an odd interest or curiosity. 



CHAPTER XLT. 

VIOLENCE. 

Are you going out to-day, Larry V’ asked his mother, gently. 

I would rather advise you to seek some rest ; you had but lit- 
tle last night.” 

Her own hollow eyes showed that she had shared his vigil, and 
still watched with him in spirit. 

“ I will go to Nelly’s grave to-day,” he said, suddenly looking 
up, after a long silent perusal of his plate. “ Will you go with 
me, Bess ?” 

There was something like a prayer in his tone, and his mother’s 
glance echoed it. Bess paused a moment, and then said slowly, 
and without feeling of any kind : 

“ Certainly, if you wish me to.” 

A little flash of triumph lit up the dead blackness of Larry’s 
eyes, and for a moment they shone like living coals on his baffled 
cousin, for Berkely had plainly looked his objections to the plan ; 
then they drooped again, in a sad despondence, that was working 
havoc in his mother’s tender heart. 

“ Go early in the day, the spring sun will enliven you both,” 
she said. fondly ; and Ih'rkoly knew she added an inward prayer 


THE MORRISONS. 


S9<S 

for the reprobate, who had hung about her to such purpose the 
night before. 

“ I have something to do which will detain me till noon,” said 
Bess, in the same unchanging tone. “ I cannot delay it, so I 
must wait till then ” 

Berkely’s desire to claim a moment’s talk with her, left him 
suddenly as they stood together in the hall; a little later he was 
putting on Ids hat, and she standing beside him, with an odd con- 
fused manner, trying to put a simple question in a form to suit 
her. 

‘‘ Are you going down town — I mean will you be up at Myer’s 
Lane ? No, no, I am very stupid — but do you think you shall 
see Barnes to-day ?” 

It seemed so unlike her to equivocate, or have a correct mean- 
ing, that it did not become her. Berkely turned away coldly 
and answered : 

“ I shall not go that way to-doy,” and left the house. 

An hour later, finding that he needed to consult some papers 
for a business purpose, he started up in that direction, hoping to 
find Barnes, as it was the day on which he generally made the 
round of the buildings to collect rents. He had turned the corner 
of Myei-’s Lane before he remembered having told Bess that he 
should not be there that day, and wondering greatly why she de- 
sired to be informed on the subject, suddenly saw her walking on 
before him in a hasty manner, her veil drawn down, and every 
appearance about her of wishing to avoid observation. He 
started back at the sight, as if there were something appalling in 
it, and quickly turning the next corner, she was lost to view. He 
hurried to the turning to see in what direction she had gone 
before he decided that he had no right to watch her movements, 
but she was nowhere to be seen ; and he returned, and went to 
looking after Barnes, as if he had succeeded in dismissing the 
subject from his thoughts, which it was not possible for him 
to do: 

Having spent a half hour in looking and enquiring for his 
agent, he was turning homewards, having given up the task of 
finding him, when he saw him coming towards him in company 


VIOLENCE. 


329 


with Bess, both wnlkinj? and talking eagerly to each other. 
When they saw him they both slopped sliort, looking very much 
startled at the encounter, and Banies said : 

“ I’m afraid I have been giving you trouble, Mr. Morrison. I 
should have been here, I know, but the business I was attending 
to was really important, and I trusted you would spare me an 
hour or two.” 

“ Certainly,” was all Berkely said, and he bowed to B ss, 
who went on without stopping to speak, after hastily return- 
ing it. 

That afternoon there arose a sudden and violent spring-storm, 
and when Berkely came home to tea, the wind was blowing like 
a tornado ; the streets were clouds of dust, and the heavens 
w^ere black and threatening. He found his aunt in great pertur- 
bation. 

“ They’ll be lost in the storm, lost entirely,” she cried, wring- 
ing her hands ; those horses of Larry’s are all fire, atid iris haiids 
are not steady at the rein — I saw that when I rode with him.” 

Berkely turned on his heel and caught up the bat he had laid 
down. 

“ Do they go the main road ?” he cried. 

‘‘iNTo, no,” answered his aunt, higiily approving his plan of 
going to the rescue. “I heard Bess ask him to drive by the 
river.” 

As he rushed down the steps again, and turned out into the 
main street, the rain came down in great gusty drops, and the 
thunder rolled and rattled fearfully. 

It was but a block to the nearest livery-stable, and in ten 
minutes he was on horse-back, dashing out for the River Road 
in a furious storm of rain and thunder and lightning. If his 
horse had cared as little for the elements as he did just th.en, it 
would have been a much easier ride for him than it was, but at 
every flash the startled beast reared and nearly threw him ; and 
before he had her quieted from the effect of one gleam another 
threw her on her haunches. 

Ill the blinding rain he saw carriage after carriage dash madly 
b lin '• ‘ng home out of the storm, but he was half way to the 


330 


THE MUKHISONS. 

cemetery on the broad, smooth road tliat womid by the margin 
of the river, yet could see nothing of Larry or Bess. 

“ They have wisely taken shelter somewhere,” he thought at 
length. “Keckless as he is, Larry would hardly dare this 
weather with such a pair as his,” and he had almost turned irre- 
solutely when he saw the plunging, foaming, frightened beasts 
just before him, with Larry half drawn from the carriage in his 
efforts to restrain them. Shouting to him to keep his hold, he 
sprang to the ground and caught their heads firmly by the bit as 
they descended from a desperate plunge, and held them down 
with all his strength, while Larry jumped from the carriage. A 
terrible flash of lightning broke upon them. Berkely’s horse 
cowered under a roadside tree like a human creature in dread — 
and Larry’s two almost lifted him from the ground in their ter- 
rified bounds. The next instant he dropped the rein, for it show- 
ed him the carriage was empty. 

“ In the name of heaven where is Bess ?” he cried. 

Larry, upon whom the storm had acted almost as painfully a.3 
upon the horses, seemed beside himself with fear, and muttered 
in a frightened way : 

“ That he could not tell ; she was mad to act so — she had 
certainly gone mad — that was all he could say.” 

Berkely let the horses jump and plunge as suited them, and 
laid hold on his cousin with might and main, shaking him fierce- 
ly enough to throw olf all his tremors for a time to come. 

“ Speak, you cowardly hound,” he almost shrieked ; “ tell me 
what you have done with her, or I’ll choke you where you stand.” 

Larry proved his perfect right to the title Berkely conferred 
on him, by losing every semblance of courage or manhood, as he 
stood gasping before him. 

“ Let me go,” he muttered, cursing him under his breath. “ I 
know nothing about her. It was before the storm began I lost 
sight of her. I had something to tell her, and she grew contrary 
and wouldn’t listen. I tried to make her, and she became, wild, 
almost mad, and tore me (his dress was disordered and his cravat 
gone ; Berkely saw it as he spoke), then she clutched the reins, 
and jumped out, and ran, the devil knows where, I don’t. I 


VIOLI-nsrCE. 


3ai 

tried to after her, but they wouldn’t stand, and she flew off 
anioug the trees ; I’ve been going up and down in search ever 
since, nearly losing my life with tliese mad devils, that seem to 
have caught her spirit.” 

Waiting for no more, Berkely was on his horse and off, call- 
ing back, “ Don’t go home till I bring her,” feeling sure that 
Larry would obey this last injunction, as it was not his 
style to dare the wrath and horror of his mother by the an- 
nouncement of Bess’s loss. Only once he turned aside before 
he reached the broad arch of the cemetery, and that was 
when he saw a little cottage near the road, and a girl peeping 
from the open window in admiration for the grandeur of the 
storm. “ She had not seen a lady,” she answered his inquiry ; 
“ though she remembered the gentleman with the fiery pair of 
bays going by with one early in the afternoon.” In a few 
minutes more he was among the graves, and saw that his instinct 
had been true. There, cowering under the marble monument 
that was inscribed as sacred to the memory of Terrence Blake, 
also to Ellen, youngest daughter of Bernard and Margaret Mor- 
rison, crouched a figure whose black robes were heavy with rain, 
and from whose white face, misery and fright had driven almost 
every truce of the proud beauty of Bess Saunders. 

She was very quiet, and rose and caught his hand in hers as 
he sprang down at her side. 

“ You have been my friend so often, that it seems nothing 
more than what I have always claimed, that you should be so 
now. You see me here looking like some one hopelessly crazed, 
and I cannot tell you why. There are some things had best not 
be spoken — this is one of them. Take me home, in the name of 
mercy I” 

Bess,” cried Berkely, his soul in his words ; “ give me 
some right to avenge you of this adversary : tell me only what I 
must know, and I swear to you he shall not harm you by word 
or look again.” 

She shook hei head sadly. The rain had ceased, the clouds 
above her began to break away, and a faint light dawned softly 
in tJie west to show the sun was setting. 


Till-: MainirsoNS. 


3S'2 


“ There are some women wlio bring tlieir fate njion tliem by 
one act of folly. Once loving him was mine, and he must be 
spared to curse me, because the woman I love best on earth 
would feel each blow I struck at him. She’s dearer to me than 
hatred or revenge of any kind.” The soft, pale light fell through 
the dewy air upon her face. “ It cannot last forever ; one of us 
must wear out,” she said. 

It was but a little way back to the cottage where Berkely 
had inquired, and he led his horse thither, while Bess walked 
silently at his side. A rough sort of wagon was easily hired, 
and leaving his steed behind him, Berkely drove the poor girl 
home without rousing her to speak till they came very near it. 
Then he said : 

“ Do you suppose he has returned yet ?” 

“ No,” she answered, instantly ; “ he is standing there at the 
street corner where we turn. Berkely,” she said, and suddenly 
caught his arm in a nervous grasp ; “ promise me you will not 
force him into a quarrel ; he will never do more than be insolent 
to' you ; that you can surely bear as well as I. As for to-day, 
why should I make his mother wretched by telling her her sou 
used brutal force to compel me into a promise of marriage with 
him ? He will hide the signs of trouble from her ; should I be 
less kind ?” 

“ 1 promise you,” said Berkely, sullenly. 

Larry stood in the hall shaking his dripping coat as they 
entered. 

“ Is it war ?” he asked, defiantly. 

Bess looked at him a moment, and her dead-white face burned 
up suddenly into a wild, imploring prayer. She stretched out 
her hands to him in an agony 'of entreaty. 

“ Man I” slie cried in a hoarse whisper, “ if you are human in 
your nature, leave this house, I pray you on my knees ; for the 
love of mercy or the hope of heaven, leave us ; 1 implore you 
leave us.” 

They stood together face to face in the dim, mellow light that 
came through the stained glass side-lights of the hall, and Berkely 


ITS EFFECTS. 


333 


wnfclied tliom. They were both changed since the morning. 
She with the dread and anguish that was in her mind, he with 
some sadden illness, that had rendered him pale, and contorted 
bis features with pain. 

I will go,” he said, at length, in a subdued tone ; “ only 
wait ; I feel strangely now< — I must be ill. But I will go away 
from here.” 

Mrs. Morrison was at the dining-room door full of com- 
miserating inquiries the next moment, and Berkely, saying that 
Bess was shivering with wet and cold, hurried her up stairs, 
leaving Larry to receive all the care and satisfy all the dis- 
tracted inquiries of his mother. 

“ You had better not come down again,” he said, as they 
reached the landing near her door. 

“ It would make her unhappy about me,” she said, faintly. 
“I believe that I have done wrong in wringing that promise 
from Larry ; it was a selfish misery prompted me, and I will try 
to think what is right.’’ 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

ITS EFFECTS. 

Larry’s presence did not trouble Bess again that night, when 
she came down after an hour’s struggle in her own room between 
her outraged heart and her unselfish love ; she found the dining- 
room deserted by all, except Ellen O’Toole, who stood there as 
a sentinel, rea,dy to give the word to Jenny Brackett for tea, the 
instant she appeared in sight. 

‘‘ Scald the pot, Jenny,” said Ellen, “and put in a good lock — 
your heapin’ handfull would be none too much, after such a 
battle wid the iliments as Miss Bess must have had. Sure Mr. 
Larry’s laid up intirely wid a buruiri’ faver. Yer aunt’s running 
up and down wid mustard aud hot wathcr, and ye may guess he’s 


834 


THE MORRISONS. 


purty bad whin lie niver raises his voice agin the balm-tea, wid 
good spice of ginger in it.” J 

“ Where is Mr. Berkely Morrison ?” asked Bess. t 

“ I think he's gone off to tell the man about the horse, or send } 
some one back wid that jaunting car he brought you in, Miss.^ 
I heard him say something to Mrs. Morrison about it,” % 

Bess sate down and commenced to drink the tea Ellen poured i 
out for her. 

“ Mrs. Waters has been here,” continued she, drawing down I 
the corners of her mouth, and elevating her sparse eyebrows, toy 
intimate a more than usual importance in the visit of this eldest | 
daughter of the house. § 

Bess merely nodded slightly, in token of hearing the announce- J 
ment ; but Ellen, tiptoeing across the room, shut the kitchen-''j[ 
door, and returned. ' 

“ You know. Miss Bess,” she began again, ‘‘ that there’s no^ 
love lost between me and yer grand cousin. Whin she was only^ 
Miss Katie, sure she had the airs of an Eastern quane, and no 
more regard for wearing the legs off a poor crayture, running 
and v/aiting on her, nor if she hadn’t the same flesh and blood 
herself.” ■ 

“ Ellen, I think you are forgetting yourself when you come to 
me to speak against my Cousin Katie,” said Bess, mildly. j 

“ Not a bit of me forgets meself, nor her nayther,” said Ellen,- 
boldly. “ Sure she came here to make mischief to-day, an’ if, 
she wouldn’t hould her tongue afore me, though the mother was 
givin’ her every wink and push wid her foot to kape quiet, I 
I have no right to consider her sayins sacred. Ses she : ‘ Where 
does Bess go every day, do ye think ? Down to a low actress’ • 
house, no less. Maybe she’s learniii’ the tr.ule of ]>lnynctoriii’ 
There’s them that watched her, and brougiit mu word that she' 
stays hours at a time, and will come out wid her vail down, as 
if she was afraid to be seen, as well she may.’ That’s the talk 
your high lady from West Park brought down here, whin she 
knew ye were out wid Mr. Larry; and she didn’t stop at that, but 
w'int on hinting, till it made the blood boil in my heart till hear.: 
Mr. Berkely knew it, she said, and was kapin’ ye at a distance 


rrs EFFECTS* 


335 


iver siucc he found it out. The doctor was mixed up in it, too, 
but more shame for him, she said. Now if it liadnT been that 
she wanted to rouse me agin her, and have me turned off for my 
imperance, I’d niver have let her lave the place widout an honest 
woman’s opinion to take wid her ; but she was just waiting to 
ake a rise out of me, so I held me tongue, and went lilting 
about, as if I never heard a word of her gab.” 

Bess laid down the cup she held in her hand, and rose, looking 
steadily at the narrator’s face ; the news did not act upon her as 
Ellen had hoped — there was no indignant wrath, or angry denial 
I expressed in her sad features. There was nothing but sorrow, 
that was painful to look upon, from its utter hopelessness, and 
her voice expressed the same feeling. 

“ I am very much obliged to you, Ellen, for being angry be- 
cause you thought I was wronged. Mrs. Waters is not very 
strong now, and she becomes nervous and excited ; don’t think 
of what she said again ; she had very little meaning in it, per- 
haps ; and above all, pray don’t speak of it to my aunt ; remem- 
ber, I need no defender with her.” 

So she went up stairs again, and heard her aunt bustling 
around in Larry’s room, ringing the bell at intervals for Jenny’s 
attendance, but was not in a mood to ask after her cousin, or 
give a thought to his welfare. 

But Larry was ill, really ill, with an inflammation brought on 
by recent cold and late excesses, the doctor did not scruple to 
tell his mother, and for a week or ten days threatened to add 
another name to the monument out in the cemetery ; but he 
rallied under the care and constant nursing of his mother and 
Cousin Berkely, who found Larry, out of his mind, a much more 
agreeable companion than Larry in his evil senses ; and burying 
tlie hatchet, sate night after night at his bedside, relieved by the 
occasional services of Mr. Little, Joseph Waters, and Dr. Dacey. 
At length he began to recover, and no sooner was he able to 
speak, that he begged to be taken down stairs. The horror of 
lying in a sick chamber was so strong in him, that it became his 
ceaseless prayer, and as soon as it was at all reasonable, was 
yielded to. 


336 


THE M0ERTS0N8. 


Bess had not in any way aided in his attendance v; she had 
cooked and brought to his door the gruels and drink prescribed 
him ; but until the day when the combined efforts of Berkely 
and Joseph Waters carried him down stairs, she had never seen 
liis face since the night of the storm. 

It was pleasant, warm weather now, and the honeysuckles on 
the trellis over the dining-room windows, were so fragrant, that 
the window blinds were opened, and their sweet breath filled the 
room. Larry was glad of the change ; his pale face lighted up 
as he looked around him, and he held his mother’s hand in his, 
kindly 

“ Oh, mother,” he said, “ this seems like life again ; it was 
horrible being shut up in that room. I thought of uncle lying 
dead at the foot of his bed, and Nelly wasting away day after 
day, till I nearly grew wild. What’s that ?” he cried, in a terii- 
fied tone, starting up and elmging round his mother like a fright- 
ened child. 

“ Why, it’s only Bess in a white dress,” said Mrs. Morrison, 
soothingly. “ It was so warm she took off her black gown while 
she got tea. Ellen O’Toole has gone up to West Park to ask 
after Katie, you know.” 

Seeing that he still trembled violently, she added : 

“ Why, Larry, where’s your nerves gone ? I never saw a boy 
so pulled down in a fortnight’s illness before. What in the 
world ails you ? Bess, will you come here ?” she said, “ and let 
him see that it’s really you, for he makes me miserable to feel 
him trembling this way.” 

With a strong effort Larry bit his lips, and controlled their 
quivering, while Bess came forward in her white wrapper, look- 
ing scarcely less faded than her sick cousin. 

“I am glad you are better,” she said, slowly; “and I om 
sorry I startled you so.” 

lie took tier hand that lay passively in his own an instant, but 
did not speak ; she withdrew it as she had given it, and went on 
with her household cares. 

“ Poor Larry,” said his mother, fondly. “ 'I'his has been a 
sore trial to you, dear, but it has made you seem more like my 


ITS EFFECTS. 


337 


own boy that was once the pride and hope of your father’s heart 
and mine, than you have been for many a long year and day.” 

“ If you love me, mother,” cried lie, faintly, breaking in upon 
this tender strain, “ let me go out in the air ; tell the doctor to 
have a soft, easy carriage brought, or ask him if I may not. You 
know what I mean — make it a life and death matter, and don’t 
listen to his hemming and hawing about it.” 

“ What an impatient man,” said Mrs. Morrison, becoming ruf- 
fled at this abrupt petition. “ Yesterday it was, would I only 
have you brought down here — that was all you prayed for or 
, cared for ; and now that you’re here, it’s something else. I don’t 
i think the doctor will have patience to listen to you, when you 
have none yourself.” 

Larry tossed back his head and groaned, 
j “ It’s this death-like house,” he said, fretfully. “ There’s noth- 
; ing but graves and coffins in the atmosphere. I thought it would 
be better down here, but it’s just as bad. I must go to Paris in 
a few weeks, and I want strength — I’ll never get it here.” 

[ “ What does the boy mean ?” cried Mrs. Morrison, raising her 

I hands and eyes in astonishment. “ He wants to go to Paris 
I when he’s not fairly out of the jaws of death I Such talk is just 
1 tempting Providence, not a whit less.” 

He turned towards the open window and looked out on the 
I sky, then he turned shudderiugly away. 

“ There’s something like faces in the clouds,” he said ; “ I can’t 
see rigidly — everything is contorted that I look at. My God, 

I what’s tliat ?” 

I This time he almost sprang in the air, though the noise that 
|l startled him so was nothing more than a sharp crack, followed 
j by a shivering sound, and was occasioned by Bess, who was 
I brushing some figures on the mantel-piece that the open window 
j had covered with dust, striking the oval glass that hung above it 
I with the handle, and shattering it into a dozen pieces. 

“ Oh, I am very sorry,” she cried, the instant it was done, both 
for breaking your old glass, aunt, and startling Larry so ; I can 
, easily get one like it, but this one was bought on Katie and 
I Larry’s birthday, was it not ?” 


15 


THE MORRISONS. 


OOQ 

uoo 


** Yes, dear, but don’t fash yourself about it ; we’ve had worse 
blows than that, you know. Larry, whatever has come over you 
that you should get yourself into sueh a way ?” 

“ Don’t you know it means death ?” he asked, hoarsely. “ Yes 
you do ; I’ve heard you say so yourself — it means death. But 
we’ve had enough of that here, and there’s no one to die. I’m 
getting well, and shall .be out to-morrow. The fresh air will 
act like magic with my nerves — that’s all that ails me now.” 

Having settled it thus conclusively, while Bess gathered up 
the pieces of glass and replaced them as they were, according to 
an irrepressible impulse every one has after breaking anything, 
he watched her with a strange perturbed expression, and broke 
out again : 

“ What does it mean after all ? You know we are a family 
for signs and tokens, and you know all about those things, 
mother.” 

“Well, then, returned Mrs. Morrison, “I never gave heed to 
such things myself. I think when the Almighty means to call 
home a soul to judgment, the breaking of a glass is a poor warn- 
ing. Larry, dear, I wish you would go to the good Book for 
your’s, and you’ll see many a warning there that will be able to 
take away the terrors of the event when it comes. Turn your 
heart to God, and there will be nothing fearful in His mysterious 
ways.” 

So little consolation did her restless son derive from this view 
of the question, that he only became more and more disturbed, 
and wished audibly that the old-fashioned fright of a mirror had 
been in the bottom of the sea, rather than there, to worry a fel- 
low’s senses out of him. 

“ But I am well,” he said, eonclusively ; “ all I want is to get 
out in the air. Thank God, I’ve will enough to defy any con- V 
founded fool of a doctor who would murder rne by tying me up 
here.” 

Bcrkely came in from his office, whose business he was arrang- . 
ing so as to leave on his expected voyage to China ; and Ellen 
O’Toole, in a rainbow shawl and large leghorn bonnet, that was I 
intimidating in its gorgeousuess, soon followed him. These J 


ITS EFFECTS. 


339 


formed Ellen^s street adornments, and she had been sent up to 
inquire after Katie’s health, and give a bulletin of Larry’s in 
return. 

“ How is Katie ?” demanded Mrs. Morrison, sharply, for 
Ellen had made no haste to communicate the result of her in- 
quiries, although her countenance expressed it was not a cheer-^ 
iiig one. 

“Well then, ma’am,” she began, slowly, “when I got the 
length of the Park, I saw the two carriages at the door, so I 
tuck to my heels, and made sj)eed ; for, ye see, I guessed it was 
the doctor’s, and I, was anxious to hear what they would say. 
It was them sure enough, and they’re all in a bad way, for the 
word is that Mrs. Waters is just as bad as bad can be, and the 
master’s distracted wid grief and distress.” 

Larry rose on his elbow, and his face brightened. 

“ ''i'hat may be the meaning of the glass, you know,” he said. 

“ Why, of course it is, for she must be very low.” 

Instantly controlling himself, he sighed and shook his head, 
saying : 

“ Poor dear Katie, such a brilliant woman, the gem of the 
family I” 

But, despite his mother’s wretchedness at these sad tidings, 
despite Bess and Berkely’s awe-struck faces, and his own attempt 
at sorrow, Larry’s relief at having the omen of the shattered 
mirror accounted for was very apparent. 

“ Pour me a cup of tea, Bess,” said Mrs. Morrison. “ I’ll 
leave Larry here, with you all, and go up there at once. I 
wouldn’t be so alarmed about her, but that it began to thunder 
and lighten that last day she was here before she could have got 
a block from the door. The horses were startled, and Joseph 
tells me she has not been herself since.” 

Berkely caught up his hat and hurried out, so that when his 
aunt was ready, after swallowing a few mouthfuls of tea, and 
putting on her street dress, to start for West Park, he was wait- 
ing at the door with a hackney coach, and helped her in, and 
watched her drive away. As he turned to walk up the steps, it 
was almost dark, and he could see by the light now burning in 


340 


THE MORRISONS. 


the dining-room that Bess was standing before the broken miiTor, 
with her head bent down, apparently weeping. He had half for- 
gotten to close the hall door, and going back to do it, he was 
startled by the sight of a woman’s figure in a long grey mantle, 
that made it ill defined in the dusk, leaning forward from one 
of the lower steps, and looking cautiously in. The instant she 
saw Berkely, which, owing to the intentness of her gaze beyond 
him, she was slow to do, she sprang down and fled ont of sight 
BO quickly, that Berkely half suspected his eyes had deceived him 
and pictured something that had no existence. 

He found Larry, drinking chocolate and eating toast, with a 
strong effort to get up an appetite, and avowing his solemn de- 
termination to be thoroughly well in the morning, and his equally 
strong resolution to go to Paris in a fortnight at farthest. 

“ Why do you think of going away, Berkely ?” he asked. 

His voice was weak and faint, and talking was an evident 
effort with him ; but he was not in a mood to encourage quiet 
or retrospection, so he drove them away in the labor of 
speaking. 

“ 1 am going on business solely,” said Berkely, slowly. 

“ An old man, of Uncle Terry’s tribe of followers, used to 
say : ‘ The poor Morrisons are lordly folk, the rich Morrisons 
are beggarly misers.’ Now, 1 had money, but it’s gone ; Pvo 
got rid of the care of it, and am a true lordly Morrison again ; 
but, you see, Berkely, you are giving truth to an old proverb, 
and turning miser because you have been successful.” 

“ You think so,” was Berkely’s answer ; and its tone expressed 
anything you might care to interpret. 

“ Will you play a game of chess ? it’s intolerably dull to lie 
liere.” 

Larry looked up persuasively at his cousin, and Bess went 
quickly and got the board and box of men, and wheeled forward 
the table. 

“ Bess has not spoken since she broke the glass,” said Larry. 

I hope you don’t think you are to blame for poor Katie’s trou- 
ble, Bess ?” 

The front door blew closed with a. sudden stroke that sounded 


LAERY SEES A GHOST. 


341 


all through the house, and Larry started up at the sound, and 
overthrew board and men. 

“ What’s that ! see quick I” he cried. “ Run, will you ? why 
do you stand gaping ?” 

He was fierce in his fear, and turned upon Bess and Berkely 
like a trembling beast. 

Berkely took up the lamp, but seeing that the one in the hall 
was lighted, laid it down again, and went out in search of the 
reason for the alarming sound. 

Presently he returned. Larry’s eyes were wild, and watched 
him eagerly. 

• “ What was it ?” he cried. 

• “My own carelessness, as far as I can see,” answered Berkely, 
coldly. “ I must have left the hall door ajar, and the wind 

■ 'sed it noisily.” 


CHAPTER XLYII. 

LARRY SEES A GHOST. 

Larry sighed, and leaned back on the sofa, his eyes half 
closed, and his face very white and wasted looking. Berkely re« 
arranged the chessmen, and Bess sat down by the lamp and 
began to sew. 

None of the three were solely occupied in what they were 
doing ; the quick, wandering glance of each would cross the 
other every few moments, and then suddenly renew its applica- 
tion to the matter in hand. But Larry and Berkely played 
chess, the one with his eyes on the broken glass, on Bess, on his 
opponent, or in all parts of the room ; the other with his every 
thought on the pale sewer before him, whose heart was very 
heavy this long-summer night. 

It became late, and still no sign of Mrs. Morrison returning 
Berkely pushed back his chair and turned to Bess. 

“ Shall I go up to the Park ?” he asked. 


U2 


THE MOERISONS. 


“ Oh, I wish you would,” she replied, so earnestly, that he 
was up in a moment, and had taken a light to go up stairs for 
his coat. 

“ It seems to have turned cold,” he said, “ and I feel chilled to 
the heart, sitting here.” 

“ It is chilling,” said Larry ; “ I felt it even when the sun 
was shining ; I had as lief live iu a tomb as in this house, now.” 

When Berkely was gone, there was a faint sound heard in the 
hall through the partly open door. It was like a soft, low sigh- 
ing, but very distinct and audible. Bess sprang up, and white 
with fear, thrust back Larry as he strove to stagger to his 
feet.” 

‘‘ Do not move,” she cried, impetuously ; “if you value your 
life, do not stir,” and she ran out of the door, closing it after her 
violently. 

Thrown back in his excessive weakness by the strong force of 
her arm, Larry sank down, but finding himself alone, fright 
gave him strength, and he struggled up again, clinging from the 
chair to the table, and thence to the door, he followed her almost 
as soon as she had closed it upon hini. With an effort he forced 
the handle round, and it blew back wide, for the outer door was 
standing open, and a full breeze swept through, swaying the 
flame in the colored lamp above his head. 

Bess was standing half-way between him and tlie starry night 
beyond, and her hands were stretched out in entreaty to a 
female figure that stood witliin the space, all in white, delicate 
and unreal as a spirit, with eyes that glowed like an intense 
flame, and features, that in their shadowy outline, had nothing 
earthly about them. 

A SDund that was something between a shriek of despair and 
a yell of terror, rang through the house from roof to floor, and 
Berkely, coming bounding down, found his cousin lying at fall 
length on the hall carpet, with his eyes closed, and breathing 
heavily, but utterly deprived of consciousness or motion. Bess 
was kiieeling at his side, vainly striving to raise him, and the 
wind was blowing freshly through the open doorway on them 
both, but there was nothijig in sight to account for the cry and 


LAEKY SEES A GHOST. 


313 


the prostrate figure. Asking no explanation, Berkely, by the 
aid of Ellen O’Toole, who had come down when the terrible 
alarm reached her chamber, in a nondescript cloak wrapt over 
her night gear, removed the prone figure to the couch it had a 
moment before left. 

As they were standing round him, the two women striving by 
pungent salts and fanning to revive him, and Berkely studying 
his strangely altered face, with a countenance whose seriousness 
momentarily deepened into alarm, Mrs. Morrison arrived at lier 
open door in the Waters’ coach, and entered it, accompanied by 
her son-in-law, very much astonished to find it standing thus 
open at midnight. 

Her step was buoyant and her face bright as she entered the 
dining-room. 

“ I bring you good news, children,” she cried, cheerily. 
“ Katie’s troflble’s over, and she is the happy mother of as 
bright a little fellow as I ever saw.” The scarlet and radiant 
countenance of the happy father shone in the background 
behind her ; but she paused suddenly ; and so did he, while both 
faces changed their expression at sight of Larry. “ What is 
it ?” they cried together. 

‘‘ I do not know,” answered Berkely, without taking his eyes 
from the sofa. “ It is something that I never saw before ; look 
at the color of his face and hear his breathing.” 

“ Dr. Windell has but just left West Park ; we left him in 
in Grove Street. Shall I go for him ?” Mr. Waters asked. 

All four of the frightened faces answered yes, and he was 
gone in another moment. 

One thing strange, Berkely, in all the dreary excitement and 
trouble of that night, could not help noting. It was that Bess 
was by far the most distracted of them all ; that there was 
something troubled her besides what they all saw ; but that, 
distressed and wretched as she was, she heard the carriage 
wheels turn into Burleigh Place, and met and whispered with 
the doctor in the hall before any of the rest had seen his face. 
As he came in, Berkely felt she had told him something that 
contracted his brows, and drew his lips in, and set an impenetra- 


344 


THE MORRISONS. 


ble watch upon his features tliat defied an attempt to read 
them. 

It ^as a serious case. He knew that at once, for when the 
doctor strove to rouse Larry by shaking him, and bis mother 
interfered, saying : 

“ He’s too weak, poor boy ; if its sleep, just let him rest.”— 
He answered ; 

“ It is a sleep he would never wake from if left to himself 
Some of you run for this leecher,” giving the card to Berkely ; 
“ and you,” pointing to Ellen O’Toole, “ get me water for the 
feet and the coarsest towels you have. I shall want your strength 
in rubbing his limbs for hours.” 

“ He has the best brandies that are to be had in the country, 
doctor, wouldn’t that strengthen him ?” begged his terrified mother. 

“ No,” said the doctor, bluntly ; “ there has been too much 
already. That and the opium he has taken to produce sleep at 
night, these last few mouths, are the worst enemies we have to 
fight with now.” 

When the mocking day dawned through the windows of the 
dining-room, now through necessity made a sick chamber, it 
showed a dreary sight ; the tables ladened with bottles, mustard- 
pots, bandages stained with blood, and glasses half filled with 
different mixtures. 

On the sofa, Larry, with his temples bound up, lay snoring as 
heavily as ever, only that now he started in his sleep once in a 
while, and slightly rolled his head. Beside him sate the tired 
doctor, looking worn out and jaded with his work, but still at- 
tentively watching the job in hand with his keen eyes. 

Berkely had persuaded Mr. Waters to return home to West 
Park, and was but just come back himself, with one of the many 
experimental prescriptions suggested to Hr. Windell, as the case 
progressed. Ellen O’Toole began to stir in the kitchen, and 
make the fire. 

“ If we only had him up stairs,” said Mrs. Morrison, sadly 
looking about her at the signs of the night’s struggle. 

“That’s easily done,” said the doctor. “He will walk up 
with our aid j but give him a room on the first floor.” 


rvIPIJCrT TKUST. 


345 


Tliey snccccdod in I’onsing him and getting him to move slow- 
ly, with Berkely on the one side and the doctor on the othrT, but 
no sooner had he touched the bed in the handsome froiil cham 
ber, where Nelly had been the last to lie, than he dropped olf 
into a heavy doze again. 

The doctor rose, and taking Berkely aside, said : 

“ I am going home to get some rest, or I shall fall over on the 
other side of your friend there, and emulate him in hard breath- 
ing. There’s an experienced man-nurse wanting, and I’ll send 
one I happen to have the command of just now. I’ll leave my 
directions wiih him, and be back again in a few hours,” 

“ What is it ?” asked Berkely, looking towards the bed, and 
speaking under his breath, for fear the reply would reach his 
aunt’s ears. 

“It’s a sort of paralysis ; I can tell you more of it when I see 
its changes — at present he only needs the care I spoke of, and 
the rubbing that had better be kept up till the man arrives.” 

Mrs, Morrison had been persuading Bess to lie down, and Bess 
was protesting against taking rest while her aunt watclied. 

“ Both of you go to bed for a few hours,” said the doctor, in- 
terfering, “ I’m telling Mr. Morrison that I’ll send a man I can 
rely on to take his place here. You are both only in the way 
now, and he will stay till the nurse arrives.” 

Being in great need of repose, Mrs. Morrison at length con- 
sented to go into her own room, and lie down on the sofa, on 
condition of being called at an instant change. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

IMPLICIT TRUST. 

Bess followed her, and was soon in her own chamber, Berkely 
hoped, taking the rest her utter prostration seemed to demand, 
but he found to his astonishment he was mistaken. The bed- 

15 * 


346 


THE MORRISONS. 


room was becoming light with the morning snn, and fearing to 
disturb the sleeper with the gleam, Berkcly raised the window to 
draw the blinds. The hall-door closed as he did so, and a tall 
figure, dressed in mourning, flitted away down the Place out in 
the main street in great haste. 

“ What in heaven’s name can she mean by this miserable se- 
crecy ?” he thought, bitterly. “ What can there be in her inno- 
cent life that requires this hidden outlet ?” 

He was instantly ashamed of the feeling that had thus impetu- 
ously arraigned her as a plotter. “ It is right, all perfectly right, 
or she would not do it,” he said to himself, determinedly. “God 
forbid that I should do myself the injustice to doubt her.” 

He knew that there was no confidence between them now ; 
that she shrunk from meeting him alone even for an instant. He 
had seen her go back into the parlors rather than pass him face, 
to face on the staircase, when no one else was by, and he could 
not deny the palpable subterfuges that had engaged her atten- 
tion, when for a moment they two had been left together in the 
common sitting.room. She never looked at him now with that 
bright, grateful look in her large dark eyes, that used to be the 
secret of his happiness ; and being very wretched with the strug- 
gle that doubt, disappointment, and hopelessness kept up in his 
heart, he foolishly resolved to go away before he should be 
conquered entirely in the fight, and lose his self-control and man- 
hood. 

“ But this is not a time to think of that,” he thought. “ My 
aunt will need all the little aid I can bestow, and absence now 
would be desertion.” 

So when the man that Dr. Winded had sent, was brought up 
to Larry’s bedside, and taking in the case at a glance, fell to rub- 
bing the poor fellow’s cold limbs in Berkely’s stead, he being re- 
lieved of that care, ran up to his own room to freshen up his 
jaded appearance for the street. He was going to attend to. a 
few necessary items connected with his changed plans, for he had 
determined not to sail to China in the coming fortnight, which 
bad been his former idea. 

He took a cup of coffee, and answered a tithe of Ellen’s in- 


IMPLICIT TRUST. 


347 


qniries concerning the patient above stairs, and then, it being 
now fully nine o’clock in the morning, he made a few memoranda 
relative to his changed views, and hurried out to meet some 
business appointments, telling Ellen to say to his aunt, when she 
awoke, that he would only be absent an hour or two at farthest. 
He might have given the message himself, for he met her cau- 
tiously descending the stairs, and leaning heavily on the bannis 
ters as she came. 

“ There’s no change at all,”' she whispered ; “ but I can’t keep 
my head down on a pillow ; I’m just gone through other ^ with 
one blow after another. Lord only knows where it will all 
end I” 

As she spoke, the door opened carefully, and Bess, apparently 
unaware of their presence, came stealing in from the street. See- 
ing them, she colored and breathed quickly. 

“ How is he now ?” she said, trying to be composed. 

Her aunt’s face flushed angrily, and for the first time in his 
knowledge, Berkely saw her look at her niece in strong dis- 
pleasure. 

“ You seem to come and go without much regard to who’s 
ailing, Bess,” she said, suspiciously. “ It ndust have been a 
strange business that couldn’t be neglected in a time of life and 
death like this.” 

Bess made no reply ; but, with a swift, deprecating glance, 
looked down, and stood like a criminal, trembling between 
them. 

“ It’s beyond me to know what hidden business you have in 
Imnd, Bess Saunders,” Mrs. Morrison went on ; “ but let it be 
what it like, it’s not worthy of you, as they who look at you now 
can easily see. And such company as you choose — a low ac- 
tress I Oh, Bess, Bess, I blush for you I” 

A heat that almost seemed to consume him, burnt in Berkely’ 
heart ; it was the fire of indignation, and for an instant or two 
the fierceness of the feeling swallowed his words ; at length he 
commanded himself, to say : 

“ For shame, aunt ; the whole devoted life of this woman has 
been at your service. You have never found in her a selEsh 


348 


THE MORRISONS. 


thought, or an act that did not make yon look above yonrsolf ; 
yet you cannot trust her an hour on the surety of the past. For 
shame, for shame 

He opened the parlor door, and almost thrust the poor cower- 
ing girl in there, out of sight of the critical eyes that looked 
at her. 

“ Not a mother’s eyes,” he thought to himself, as he caught 
the glance. “ No, no ; it was a mother’s love she gave her when 
she could find neither fault nor blot about her ; but this is the 
aunt that judges her now.” 

Mrs. Morrison did not follow her ; either abashed at her 
nei)hew’s reproof, or too aggrieved to reply to it, she passed on 
out of sight, and they two-stood alone together. Bess closed 
the door, and came close to her cousin. 

“ I’m sick and faint, so don’t mind my looks, Berkely,” she 
said ; “ but try to understand me. I must have Charlotte Men- 
tors come to me at once, and then you must help me for a little 
while — only a little vvhile — without making me unhappy, so very 
unhappy, Berkely.” 

It surely could not have been Bess’s voice that said this so 
tenderly, so imploringly. Berkely doubted his sense of hearing, 
but he could not doubt the reality of the throbbing joy the sound 
awoke within his heart. He caught her hands in his own, and 
looked at her steadily. Certainly he had never seen her look so 
ill before — the shadows of a sleepless night about her eyes, the 
weariness of distress of mind in every feature ; but there was 
something else in the face before him that was dearer to him 
than all its proud beauty. It gave him courage to speak, though 
his voice trembled with the timidity that belongs to the deepest 
feelings of large hearts. 

“Oh, Bess, is it possible for me to make you happy — have T 
the power ? Am I mad, to ask you this ?” 

She looked up at him a moment, and then, trembling violently, 
said : 

“ No, Berkely, for I love you, and I know you love me.” As 
she uttered the words, she shook from head to foot, and burst 
into tears. 


Mfsoivmas. 


349 


“ TTch', hero/’ he cried, in wild exultation. “ Here, 

darling’, on my breast. Please God, these are the last tears you 
shall over shed, my Bess, my life, iny soul I” 

111 everything but joy a temperate man, Berkely Morrison, as 
he held the tall, slight figure in his arms, and pressed it to his 
heart, became beside himself. The heavy sleeper above stairs, 
the mysterious trouble that had wakened his aunt’s suspicious 
displeasure, the projected voyage, all dissolved into a mist, and 
floated away in the memory of his own past wretchedness. He 
would have stood thus forever, lost in that blessed sense of hope 
fulfilled, without the sting that sometimes lies hidden in fruition 
Bess raised her face. 

“ You must go, Berkely,” she said ; “ this happiness makes it 
all clearer to me. Bring Charlotte ; for it is serious business, as 
you will soon know.” 

He obeyed her instantly, and as he stooped to kiss her, she 
said softly, with a proud light just dawning on her pale face : 

“ You do not question me, but trust in me entirely ?” 

He only answered with a look ; but that was enough for her. 
As the echo of his quick, buoyant step came from the street 
without, she fell upon her knees, being humbled by the flash of 
joy that shone like a great light in the gloom that hung around 
her. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

MISGIVINGS. 

There was in interval or two of waking during the day, aiK 
Larry’s heavy slumber seemed slightly broken to begin again, and 
so he passed another night. But the next day he spoke : with 
difficulty at first, but gradually plainer, and in a very weak and 
gentle voice, and thanked his mother for a drink she gave him. 

“ Oh, you are so good. It is so nice and cool,” he said, and 
smiled like a pleased child, and closed his eyes again. 


THE MORRISONS. 


850 

These were the first distinct words he uttered ; and it had 
been so much the habit of liis life to receive without gratitude, 
that their form and tone were both startling to her ear. In an 
hour or two he was talking freely, still in the same weak voice, 
but without apparent effort. It was not the old Larry that 
spoke ; whatever the mysterious nature of the blow that fell so 
suddenly upon him, there was this about it, that it had struck 
out as a paid balance all the old imperious, thankless element in 
his nature that demanded everything and accounted no pang in 
another a sacrifice, while his own slight twinges were agonies. 
This broken figure, with its nerveless, expressionless face, lying 
in stolid repose, had nothing to offer but gentle pleadings and 
tender thanks, and turned its dull, full eye from side to side 
watching the kindly offices of those who waited on him, with a 
strange absence of their old proud, selfish gleam. 

Something inexplicable went on meantime in the house below. 
Mrs. Morrison saw that, deeply as her heart was sunk with the 
prostrate figure of her son, Charlotte Waters had been there, 
and went away bowed and weeping, and Berkely had been com- 
ing and going with Joseph Waters, and all of them had waylaid 
Dr. Wiudell, as he came from Larry’s room; and there had been 
whisperings and secrecy on all sides. It was at breakfast on the 
fourth day after Larry’s strange attack, and the first time that 
his mother had come down to a regular meal, when she turned to 
Berkely, as they sate alone, and said : 

“ You took me to task, Berkely, for my words the other day, 
and you did well, for when I forget what Bess used to be to me, 

I deserve a sharp reminder ; but Berkely, dear, -that time has 
gone by, Bess is no longer the girl she once was. I’m losing all 
I ever held dear, and Bess is going too.” 

She shook her head, and the large tears trickled slowly down 
her faded face. 

Berkely began to speak, but caught sight of Bess, who stood ^ 
silent and sorrowful behind her aunt’s chair, with her finger upon 
her lips, so he looked down and made no reply. 

“ Whatever it is the poor girl has in view, it is a folly to 
think that I would go against her, as she seems to do. If it 


MISGIVINGS. 


351 


j was to lose me all I have in this world, I would not gainsay her 
, wish. Maybe it is her pleasure to have the place to herself ; 

) new ties make new plans, as Katie says, and if it^s so, she has 
] only to speak the word, and Idl not stand in her way.” 

Berkely moved uneasily in his chair ; at length, despite Bess’s 
I warning, broke out : 

I “ Oh, aunt, do not I entreat you let her hear you talk in this 
' way ; it would distress her more than you can dream of.” 

His aunt looked at him in surprise. 

“You know that it’s the doctor,” she said, abruptly. “ I 
doubted it myself till I could doubt no longer ; he’s a noble 
gentleman, no doubt, but I don’t understand such hidden work. 
I wish them joy, but I don’t understand it.” 

“ Do you think Larry is really better ?” Berkely interrupted ; 
he gives us every hope in his appearance, but do you think there 
is any danger of a relapse ?” 

“ I’m not used to such sickness,” she replied ; “it is all new 
to me — but I’m thankful to heaven that he is as he is now.” 

And Larry continued to grow better, but to be himself no 
longer in anything. His very face had changed — the chiselled 
beauty of its features was lost in the mild and childish look they 
wore. The arching pride of lip and nostril, the proud curve in 
his brows, the half haughty, half gay flash in his eye, were things 
that had been, but were gone forever. It was a little while be- 
fore they discovered that he had lost more than the mere out- 
ward pride of his beauty, and that mind and memory had sufler- 
ed too. To his mother he S[)oke kindly and tenderly, but always 
I with a certain wistful questioning glance, as if there were some- 
j thing he would ask if he could find the words to frame the sen- 
! teiice. 

‘ “ Oh, Larry, darling, it makes my heart ache with joy and 

sorrow to see you so,” his mother said, as she watched him pick- 
ing out the many colored silk threads that formed the tassel of a 
fan he held, and laughing eagerly when he came to a scarlet one. 
“ Your mother’s boy, your mother’s poor, weak boy !” 

“Mother,” he whispered, softly; “motlicr — mother. Yes,” 
he added, quickly, “ that’s it, that’s it — mother, mother — mo- 


THE MORRISONS. 


3.^2 

ther,” and he laughed merrily, as if he had made a great dis- 
covery. 

After that, every time .she came near him, he would repeat, 
“ Mother, mother, mother,” and look at her and smile a sweet, 
happy smile, that would have been innocent on the face of an 
infant. Bess he greeted in the same pleased way, but she saw 
with a feeling that had an odd throb of bitterness in it, that he 
had to learn her name, and that her face awoke no memory in 
his dormant mind. But his strength grew greater, and his color 
bloomed again, a healthy glow on his pale face, and he sate by 
the open window in the sweet summer weather, very happy in 
its light and warmth, and free from care as he had ever been in 
childhood. 

He could move about slowly, though he soon grew weary, and 
sought the cushioned-chair again. Every little picture, witli a 
speck of brightness in it, attracted him ; the flowers that were 
set in vases, to make his chamber bright, were an unfailing 
delight to his eyes ; he would touch their leaves tenderly with 
Ids fingers, and try to connect their delicate folds of deepening 
bloom, singing softly to himself snatches of children’s May songs 
that he must have heard twenty years before, for of all old 
things like these, he seemed constantly reminded, while the pre- 
sent was as something dead. 

But as he thus slowly rose to a new, strange life and being, 
there was a deep shadow in the house, and on his mother’s 
heart. 

Katie had grown strong and well again, and to her the poor, 
lonely, sorrowing woman went with her grief. 

Kot all the glory of the gorgeous chamber that Katie kept 
convalescent state in, could lighten the heavy heart of her 
mother. 

“ The Lord in His wisdom has spared poor Larry,” she said, 
“ and thougli he has had a blow that has shook both mind and 
body, he’s slowly coming to himself, I see, and so I hope for the 
best, blessed be His merciful name. But oh, Katie dear, liesa 
is not the Bess that used to be the light and comfort of my life. 
Siie slips out of my sight if I turn my eyes towards her, ajid 


MISGIVINGS. 


353 


when I think she^s safe in her bed at midnight, I see her gliding 
out of the hall-door like an evil spirit that shrinks from the light, 
or coming in like a ghost, white with w'atchiug.” 

Katie gave a short laugh, and answered encouragingly. 

“ And you know poor Nell and I might have done wrong, and 
in fact were accused of it every day of our lives, but Bess was 
immaculate, you always said. You find out now you were 
deceived.” 

“No, no,” said her mother, impetuously. “I never will 
believe she was not what I thought her ; there’s something now 
that I do not understand, and that gives me pain aud sorrow to 
think of ; but oh, Katie, think what the dear lass was to us all 
in many a happy year.” 

Katie evidently did not enjoy such a retrospect ; so she turned 
the conversation back to Larry. “ We are still going to Paris 
when baby’s old enough, and he can go with us, can he not ? 
There’s nothing so good as traveling for shaken nerves. If you 
had rather not go, which I suppose would be the case,” she 
added, remembering a little homespun something in her mother’s 
manner that struck her as at variance with fashionable life, 
“ then you can come up here, and be mistress while I’m away, 
and write me about everything ; and get long letters filled with 
hopeful news of Larry in return. There, you will enjoy that, I 
know.” 

Her mother shook her head, and looked down on the carpet, 
but did not speak. 

“ And you know,” Katie went on, “ that there is my old plan 
of the Oak Hill house, and I think it a capital one still. If you 
say the word, Joseph will order the improvements commenced 
to-moiTow, for I suppose it will be some time before Larry is 
able to take cliarge of anything.” 

Her mother, so far from finding comfort in any suggestion of 
her active-minded daughter, simply put her face between her two 
hands at this point, and let tiie great warm tears gush through 
her fingers, till her poor, gray head was bowed with ^motion. 

“ Whatever takes me from her, or the home of my happy 
memory, is a bitter kind of comfort to me, Katie ; I’ll not dis- 


354 


THE MORRISONS. 


guise that from you/^ she said, “ First came that wedding of 
Larry’s, that was like a blighting wind, and withered all that 
followed ; since then, the sky has grown darker and darker, till 
there is not a ray of hope before me, but that his body was 
spared, with a weak, failing mind to guide it.” 

Katie looked round with a strong expression of being bored 
on her delicate features. She changed her position restlessly, 
and arranged her beautiful drapery into more graceful folds. 

“ IJncle Terry was an old man,” she ’said, “and really lived 
longer than»one could have expected. Poor Nell’s was a loss ; 
but then consumption, you know,” and she elevated her eye- 
brows, and shook her head, “ there’s no flying death, when it 
comes in that form. As for the rest, poor Larry married a 
monomaniac ; but even that connection was not without its good 
})oiuts.” And she took a comprehensive view of the elegance 
around her, and sighed complacently. 

This, then, was what Mrs. Morrison beard at her daughter’s 
mansion ; and, added to this, she saw a cradle disguised in a 
cloud of lace, wherein lay an ill-developed little creature, with' 
nothing pretty about it, but its helplessness, guarded on either 
side by a showily dressed nurse, whose splendor threw the poor 
old grandmother quite in the shade. 

As she departed, Mrs. Morrison offered her daughter some 
wholesome advice on the small object of so much display. 

“ See that its feet are kept warm, and its stomach well filled, 
and you can just send youy glowering pair of hussies adrift,” she 
said. “ Sure, I would not have them set up fornpnt me, if I was 
paid for keeping them, let alone the expense they must be to 
- you.” 

“Do you mean the nurses, mother? Pray speak low, and 
remember there are certain things necessary in certain places. 
The upper one is a French lady of excellent manners, who will 
be an admirable woman to travel ; that is her assistant in the 
blue dress — she chose her herself.” 

“ It’s just rank nonsense ; but if you’re easy about it, I have 
nothing to say ; only, if the baby takes the colic, your two pop- 
injays will be no more good to you than a couple of painted par- 


LARRY PRAYS. 


355 


rots. But, Katie dear, just take a spoonful of clear Irish whisky, 
in a gill of sweetened warm water — or, if it has a sore fit of it, 
as you often and often had yourself at the same age, just take a 
spoonful of warm sweet milk, and then get a draw of a strong 
pipe in your mouth, and blow it into it. It’s a sovereign balm, 
and was the saving of you when your face was just knotted with 
pain.” 


\ 

CHAPTER L. 

LARRY PRAYS. 

As there was nothing very promising to go home to, poor 
Mrs. Morrison sighed sadly as the elegant equi})-ige of her son- 
in-law turned with her into Burleigh Place. Bess met her at 
the door, and took her shawl from her aj*ni, and inquiicd earn- 
I estly after Katie and her boy, for in all outward duties the poor 
girl was unchanged, and she even strove, by redoubled atten- 
■ tions, to bridge the painful gulf of want of confidence between 
' them ; but her solicitude glanced off steel in Mrs. Morrison. She 
gave her a keen look at first, and finding that her glance met 
the same downcast eye and comiwessed lip that it had been her 
misery to greet so long, she just turned away and went up stairs 
to Larry, answering shortly, that — ^ 

I “ Both were well enough ; there was nothing wrong with 
; tliem, thank God !” 

He was sitting in his easy-chair, smiling and perfectly idle. 

* which seemed to his poor mother’s heart the worst feature in his 
{ case. He would sit for hours, thoroughly contented to look be 
I fore him into S|)ace, with a happy passiveness about him tra 
I seemed to have abjured thinking and contriving forever. Nei- 
I ther did the coming or going of any one affect him, and he only 
i noticed his mother now when she stood close before him — then 
I he laughed. 

|| “ Mother,” he said, “ mother, mother.” 

23 


356 


THE MOKEISONS. 


He seemed fond of repeating her name, and this time he added 
suddenly : 

“ You are dressed all in black. What is that for ?” 

The poor old woman, with distress and anxiety in her eyes, 
came and sate down close beside him. 

“ Do you not mind Uncle Terry, darling she asked ; “ old 
Uncle Terry?” 

“ Uncle Terry has canes,” said Larry, slowly ; “ Uncle Terry 
has canes and pipes.” 

‘‘ Oh dear, oh dear 1 but that brings back old times to me. 
Yes, Larry dear, I can see you riding his old thorn stick round 
the parlors, or pretending to smoke a long twirled-stemmed pipe 
he bought in Turkey, when he went to sea as a surgeon, nearly 
fifty years ago. Dear, oh dear I was it that you were thinking 
of, Larry ?” 

Larry, whatever efforts he had made at thought, had now 
abandoned them all, and sate smiling as inanimately as ever. 

“ And poor sister Nelly dear,” continued his mother, with 
streaming eyes ; “ you know poor Nelly darling, don’t you ?” 

“jNelly I” said Larry, quite roused at the name ; “ Nelly, 
where’s Nelly ? Call her, mother. Tell her to bring the baga- 
telle board with her.” 

In a dark closet, in Mrs. Morrison’s chamber, where everything 
that her lost daughtei had ever kept or prized as her own was 
laid away as sacred mementoes of the dead, this very same faded 
bagatelle board lay among the rest. 

“ Nelly cannot come to you, dear,” his mother said, softly ; 

she and uncle are safe at home together in a happier world, 
♦and I humbly thank Hislalessed name that they are.” 

The stricken woman uttered this from the very depths of her 
bowed heart, but her words were meaningless to her happy son. 

“ Bess,” he said, gaily, “ there’s Bess coming up the stairs ; I 
know her footstep ; open the door, mother, and see.” 

Bess opened it herself, and came in, and he laughed gaily to 
find he was right. 

“ [ knew it was you, because I like you, Bess ; sit here.” 

She took the place he pointed to beside him, and sate silently 


LAREY PEATS. 


357 


returning his smile, and letting him draw out her curls, one by 
one, to their full length, and laugh at them recoiling themselves 
again. 

“ The doctor says he had better be taken down to tea, and so 
Berkely said he would come home early and assist him down 
stairs, if you approved, aunt,” she said. 

“ I suppose it’s all right, then,” her aunt answered ; “ but one 
place or another seems the same to him now, poor boy.” 

“ His memory will come back slowly,” said Bess, in a low 
voice. “ It is better that it should be so.” 

“ It is better that it should never come at all, than that it 
should bring back his old nature and habits with it. If he is a 
child in sense now, he seems a child in guile and evil ; if all must 
come together, God keep him as he is, I humbly pray I” 

Her solemn manner caught her son’s attention j he looked at 
her wonderingly. 

“ What is it ?” he asked, mysteriously. “ Is it something that 
Bess is hiding, mother ?” 

“ No,” his mother answered, looking meantime keenly at her 
niece’s flushed face. “ She’s not hiding this. What I was speak- 
ing of, is in a higher hand than hers.” 

“Don’t scold Bess,” he said, gently smoothing her hair, as if 
he detected something injurious in his mother’s tone. “ Dear 
Bess, good Bess, true Bess.” 

The poor girl leant forward, in a vain effort to hide her face, 
and burst into a flood of tears. 

Her aunt, touched to the heart, drew near her, and slipped her 
hand iuto hers. 

“ Bess, my own dear Bess,” she said, her voice weak with the 
burden of its own feelings, “ why do you distrust the one you 
kuow has loved you best and longest ? Oh, darling, if it is the 
house, or money, or a change in your plans or feelings, why not 
speak the word ? Do you think I would stand in your way, if 
you have chosen a stranger, who does not wish to be mixed up 
with us ? No, dear, only tell me what you mean, and without 
the loss of a pin’s point of love or gratitude. I’ll go where you 
will, and do what you will.” 


358 


THE MORRISONS. 


Bess sprang forward and threw herself on the bosom of her 
aunt, sobbing convulsively, and trying to restrain her words. 

“ 'No, no, no,’^ she cried, “ do not name such things ; oh, do 
not think me capable of such foul meanness. Trust me, aunt, for 
a little while, oh, do trust me, and I will tell you all ; my 
mother, my dear second mother 1” 

Larry was kneeling too beside her, with his poor, meaningless 
face turned pitifully upwards, when Jenny Brackett tapped at 
the door. 

“ Miss Bess,” she said, with her own wide-eyed breathlessness 
of manner, “ there’s a message for you. You’re to go straight 
where you are expected, and lose no time ; there has been a sud- 
ding change. Them was the words, and you was to be quick as 
lightning, Barnes said.” 

In an instant she sprang up, and Larry began to rise too. 

Suddenly she laid her hand upon him and held hfih down 
Her face had grown pale, and her eyes were full of a strange 
light. 

“ Pray,” she said, solemnly, “ pray, if you can find words to 
ask forgiveness. He may hear you. Oh, pray with him, aunt ; if 
you prize heaven’s mercy for him, pray I” 

With a manner wild as her words, she sped away after Jenny, 
who had departed with the last sound of her message, and the 
mother and son were left alone together. She, lost in sorrowful 
amazement, and he, urged by the fervency of his cousin’s words 
’uto a faint recollection of childish devotion, softly repeating 

“ Our Father who art in heaven, forgive us our trespasses, 
and keep us from evil 1” 


THAT WAS LOST BUT NOW 18 FOUND.” 


359 


(( 


CHAPTER LI. 

“that was lost but now. is foun».” 

Berkely was at home and sitting quietly reading in the par- 
lors, when Mrs. Morrison came down after awhile. At least he 
seemed to read, but though Mrs. Morrison did not know it, he 
had been holding the same page before him ever since Bess had 
left him there an hour before. He looked up now, and asked if 
he should come and help Larry down to tea. 

“ I hardly know ; I am dazed like, with one thing and ano- 
ther. Berkely, can you, or rather will you tell me what is 
^jjjx^oiig she asked, pitifully. 

“ I can only gness — I have no right to say,” he replied, hesi- 
tatingly. “ I h:ive asked nothing, and received no answer — but 
1 think — that is, I fear Bess will tell you all to-night.” 

“ You fear,” his aunt repeated, slowly, looking at him search 
ingly, as she spoke. “ You wouldnT advise her to, it seems-,” 
and she turned coldly away and went up stairs, saying, “ You 
had better take your tea — Pll see to Larry myself, and not 
trouble you.” 


Ellen O’Toole was the next to break into Berkely’s study of 
that one important page that he had not yet turned. 

“ Sure ye might jist come in and take the desarted look off the 
table,” she said, persuasively. “ Your aunt will nayther take 
bit nor sup, and Jenny and me has lost our stomachs with the 
rest. Oh, do come away in and ate a bit.” 

“ Certainly,” said Berkely, briskly, and he followed her, to her 
great relief, with an appearance of keen appetite, but it ended 
there; and after breaking open a biscuit and stirring a cup of 
tea, determinedly, he sate back in his chair and fell to perusing 
tlie ceiling as he had done the book, while poor Ellen’s kindly 
satisfaction effervesced. 

“ You’re as bad as the rest, and jist timpt me, to look at ye 


B60 


THE MORRISONS. 


wasting victuals. I hope ye mayn’t all be brouglit to want for 
it yet ” 

Without much ceremony, she began to gather the things away 
from before him, and Berkely, awaking to the extent of his 
offense, swallow'ed the tea at a draught, and made a hasty de- 
monstration on the biscuit that tended so little to mollify her, 
that she actually took it out of his hand. 

“ Don’t be choking yerself to plase me, Mr. Berkely ; yer 
full enough of yer own feelins, no doubt, and sorra’ a bit of won- 
der at it.” 


It was nearly midnight when the heavy rumbling of carriage 
wdieels through the silent streets, made Berkely start to his feet. 
The sound came nearer and stopped at the door. 

He was still in the parlors, lighted only by the reflection from 
the hall lamp, and going out into the passage, was surprised to 
hear his aunt’s door open too, and her feet beginning to descend 
the stairs — for it was lute, and he had not heard her moving 
about for hours. 

There were steps outside, and then the door-bell rang a quick, 
sharp peal, just as Mns. Morrison reached the hall floor. 

Berkely stood a moment looking toward her. 

“ Open it,” she said ; “ it is likely to be Bess. These are fa- 
vorite hours with her now.” 

It was Bess, but not alone; Joseph and Charlotte Waters 
were with her. They came first, and she stood slightly in the 
background, mufiled in a long, grey cloak that gave her an odd 
appearance. 

“ Is anything wrong with Katie ?” cried her mother, the in- 
stant she caught sight of the brother and sister ; but as they 
liastened to reply in the negative, she conquered her momentary 
alarm, and said coldly and ceremoniously : 

“ You are late visitors, and you’ll excuse the dark parlors, if 
you please. Walk in. Berkely, you’ll oblige me if you light the 
lamps.” 

Berkely touched one of the burners of the chandelier, and they 
all sate down in silence. 


THAT WAS LOST BUT NOW IS FOUND.” 361 

Bess came near her aunt, and suddenly kneeling before where 
she was seated, threw aside her cloak, and showed her a sleeping 
infant that she held cradled in her arms, close to her bosom. It 
was a tiny creature, scarcely two mouths old, but very, very 
pretty — and very, very like its mother. It was to this likeness 
that Bess trusted, as a preparation for what her aunt had to 
hear. 

It was not enough. Mrs. Morrison looked from one to the 
other, with a face that belonged to some terrible nightmare, and 
even the power of speech seemed denied her, though her lips 
moved once or twice, as if trying to utter some faint expression 
of her painful bewilderment. Berkely leaned against the chim- 
ney-piece, his eyes rivetted on the woman and the child. Josef)h 
Waters sate with a bowed head and solemn mien, and his sister 
held his hand in her’s and shared his attitude and expression. 

“Aunt” — it was Bess who spoke — “do you remember the 
night after our darling Nelly left us ? Think a little while. Ah, 
I see you do ! I was ill that night, you know. It was from a 
fright, so terrible that nothing but Heaven^s tender mercy gave 
me power to live through it. That night I saw this baby’s 
mother, whom I had thought dead, rise, as it seemed, from her 
grave in the pitiless sea, and come back to demand her innocent 
youth from the household where the first blight fell on its happy 
sunshine. In my terror, she bound me with an oath, dictated 
by her own lips, that I would not, as I hoped for heaven, men- 
tion her as one of the living, or give a trace or clue whereby she 
could be found. You understand me now, aunt that was four 
long months ago, and I have braved the loss of all I prized on 
earth to keep that vow.” 

The old woman — suddenly become to look very old indeed, 
and strangely haggard, as she listened — stooped forward and 
clutched the girl, and drew her towards her closely, so that the 
baby lay in both their arms. 

Bess began to weep. 

“ The poor creature, who had lost her place among the living, 
was not clear or calm in any way, and thought herself pursued 
by terrible phantoms ; the doctor said it would be better by-and- 


362 


THE MOliRISONS. 


bye, aud we trusted to this little dove to bring a promise of 
j)eace to its poor mother's darkened mind. Aunt, it was a 
iniglitier angel than this tiny one. It came to-night, with its 
broad pinions, and folded them round her, a quiet, calm, loving, 
forgiving woman ; and oh, better still, aunt, a happy Christian, 
going joyfully home to a double father's love." 

Sobbing convulsively, Bess fell forward, and Berkely gently 
drew the infant from her arms, and there was nothing between 
tlie two women as they knelt together in each other's embrace. 

“ Mr. Morrison,” Joseph Waters began, speaking in a low 
voice, “ it is due to you to know that our poor dear child did not 
dread you, nor your good aunt ; but, until to-night she was un- 
reasonable on the subject of seeing any near connections of her 
husband's except Bess, and when she wished for you all to come, 
it was unfortunately too late to gratify her.” 

“ Yet she came here twice,” said Berkely, recalling the terror 
of Bess and the night Larry received the shock that had left him 
the wreck he was. 

Joseph threw a quick glance at Bess and her aunt as they 
whispered to each other their sorrow and love. 

“ Had she better be told everything ?” he whispered. . 

Berkely followed the kind eyes of her son-in-law, as they rested 
pityingly on the weeping woman. Her tears were the clearing 
shower that sometimes comes in the evening after a gloomy day, 
and gives the close a beautiful sunset. It was all bright and 
cloudless between Bess and her, and he could not think it best 
to tell her one painful word that she might be spared. 

Charlotte's heart had decided as his had done, for at this in- 
stant she took the infant from Berkely, and giving them both a 
look and nm’ion of her hand, they three stole out together. 

“ Leave it to Bess to tell what is best for her to know,” said 
she, when they were seated in the dining-room. “ And now, Mr. 
Morrison, you must not' think me a stricken woman, for I thank- 
fully declare to you to-night that in my inmost soul a sense of 
solemn joy reigns over every other feeling. The delicate little 
figure that we composed in her hist sleep an hour ago, was our 
child that was lost and now is found, wus duid and now she is 


THAT WAS LOST BUT NOW IS FOUND.” 3G3 

alive in hope and peace. She never was deranged except from 
misery and terror. That demon above stairs threatened her life 
in a dozen covert ways that she discovered one by one. He had 
almost poisoned her in the South, and in Paris he set her horse 
olf when they were riding, and she clung to its mane for a hole 
square. Tliis is what sent her home possessed by such a horror. 
Then she grew ill, and had no power to hide her tremors, so 
they thought her mad, and watched her. The infinite mercy of 
Heaven alone can know and pity the wretched struggle that went 
before her wild resolve to die. It was a dark night, she tells us, 
and she found her way clear, and fled for the water. Without 
waiting one moment after she reached it, she threw her^loak and 
hood upon the ground, and stepped back from the pier to spring 
in, when she heard a strange cry and a plunge, and a sudden ter- 
ror seizing her, she caught up the mantle she had dropped, and 
ran and ran and ran, till she dropped down somewhere near a 
market, and lay cowering and trembling till the break of day. It 
was a poor neighborhood, and when, as the coming light showed 
her, she found she had picked up a wretched shawl and faded 
head-dress instead of her own, she never paused to unravel the 
mistake ; but, selling in some shop at hand a ring and chain or 
two she wore, she bought a few things needful, and lingered 
about in this low quarter all the day till evening ; then she took 
the cars, and came here, with no object that I can discover, ex- 
cept to get away from him.’^ 

“ Did she come to this house at once V’ asked Berkely. 

“ No,” Charlotte said, and paused a little while. “ I am sorry 
it was so, but the woman has done nobly,” she went on at length. 
‘‘ There was an actress — a certain Addie West — who found her 
in the street, by some chance, and knew her, altered as she was, 
and took her home. She attached some importance to Bess’s 
influence over her, and persuaded Juliet at last to see her, which 
she did that evening after Nelly died. From that time, Bess 
has been devoted to the poor darling, and it was on her bosoi!?* 
she died to-night.” Ciiarlotte Waters broke down here, and 
bowing her head, sobbed over the sleeping infant with all her 
heart. 


364 


THE MORRISONS. 


“ Slic left her baby to Bess’s care ; it was the strongest proof 
slie could give of her undying love and gratitude, she said, and 
Bess must know that. She knew everything tiiat happened, ex- 
cept that the sight of her had turned that fellow’s murderous 
brain. She had not seen Bess for a week then, and being 
uneasy, had come to watch about for a glimpse of her. She 
did not wait to see him fall, it seems, though she knew he was 
there, and fled away in terror of being recognized. Notliing 
could persuade her to look on his face, until it was too late to 
bring him there ; but she died, blessing and forgiving him, which 
proves that she had lost all trace of earthly feeling.” 

“ Dr. Windell knew it all from the first, then ?” Berkely said, 
remembering how he and Bess had gone away together at night, 
and how much misery the sight had giveu him. 

Joseph Waters began to say, looking deprecatingly at his 
sister, meantime : 

“ Yes, that was necessary, for though Charley don’t think so, 
it appeared to the rest that the dear little thing was not herself — 
that she wandered in her mind, and might at any time be tempted 
to do something rash. Now, I don’t want to annoy you, Charley, 
dear,” he continued, gently, as his sister turned indignantly away, 
“ but until the baby was born, it seems she quite raved at times. 
Then she became quieter, and at last consented to see us. You 
remember when you came up that night, Mr. Morrison ?” 

Berkely bowed, and looked steadily at the carpet as the whole 
story seemed to blend itself into the scroll-work there. First the 
pretty, trusting bride, and now the cold, insensible figure, lying 
at peace in West Grove street. The actress, who being wronged 
herself, had strangely come to be the friend and refuge of her 
enemy’s wife ; and oddly enough, with all the rest, the phantom 
of an unknown wonfan, whose perishing body had floated away, 
surrounded by so many memories of sorrow and remorse, who 
was she ? Some nameless, houseless being, whom none of them 
had ever seen, and who had died in want, despair or madness, 
little thinking that for mouths, her rash and miserable death 
would be a mask for a life almost as hopeless. 


THE DAr BREAKS. 


365 


CHAPTER LII. 

THE DAY BREAKS. 

Bess came in witti her annt after a long time, and found them 
sitting together, talking still in broken whispers of the story so 
strange, that it could not grow old to any. 

Mrs. Morrison was very subdued and tearful, and held Besses 
hand in hers, as if loath to lose the touch of one so long 
estranged. 

“ You must go now, Charlotte,” Bess said, “ it is nearly day- 
break, and my aunt must rest ; we have thought and spoken 
about it all, and she is calm and resigned, as you see. Joseph 
will see us to-morrow, and the next day we will be there.” 

She kissed her as she took the baby from her arms, but did 
not go with her into the hall. Her aunt did, and Berkely aiM 
she stood alone together. 

“ I have not asked you about this, Berkely,” she said, without 
raising her eyes from the tiny face they lingered on so fondly, 

“ It all belongs to that part of my life that had past before I 
knew you, and I cannot give it up.” 

Before he spoke, Berkely was conscious of a mean little sting, 
that reminded him to be glad that there was nothing of her 
father in the baby’s face ; he crushed the thought impatiently, 
and rejoiced in the sweet quiet that shone in the dear, sad eyes 
that now met his, enquiringly. 

“ I had no confession to make,” she said, smiling. “ You 
knew the past, and chose me ; but you can refuse me now, you 
know, since there are two of us to be taken.” 

Berkely looked at her again ; she seemed so beautiful in his 
eyes tliat he was loath to lose the sight. 

“There is room in my heart, Bess, even for Larry’s child, 
when you hold it in your arms ; but — it would come out, you 
gee — thank God it don’t look like him ; it is such a tiny picture 
of its poor young mother, that it melts my very soul to look 
at it.” 


3G6 


tup: moreisons. 


lie took them both to his broad bosom, and held them there, 
while in his inmost heart he vowed, God bein;r his help, that the 
daughter’s life sliould be a compensation for the blighted exist- 
ence of the mother ; and before his Maker’s eje, that moment, 
he solemnly adopted Larry’s child as his own. 

Mrs. Morrison’s eye fell upon them, standing thus, in perfect 
astonishment, that instantly changed to pleasure ; a pleasure 
that brought a sigh with it, for, as she beheld them, a shadowy 
pair of figures that had been the day-dream of years gone by, 
seemed to float away and burst like bubbles in the sunshine. 
They were the counterparts of Bess and Larry in their early 
youth, and had become so fixed in the framework of her hope 
and fancy, that blurred and defaced as they had been, they still 
revived again ; but this sight dashed them out forever. It was 
Bess and Berkely now, and Larry was lying like a broken instru- 
ment of sound that had been shattered once, and put together 
j^tli unskillful fingers, though seeming like its former self, could 
no more answer to the touch of song. 


A faint, shadowy streak of daylight pierced the bowed shut- 
ters and played about the head of Nelly’s picture, that had beeu 
put there to replace Lariy’s, since her mother missed her bright 
face from the room. 

As her aunt kissed Bess in silent congratulation, she saw it, 
and smiled in answer to the look it seemed to bend upon her. 

I never saw a plighted love at day-break before, darling,” 
she said ; “it may be a good omen to you both ; and look at 
Nelly’s picture — her angel face seems smiling on you now.” 

Bess held up the child as if to catch the light, but did not 
speak. She could not ; her whole life seemed crowned with per- 
.fcct peace and rest from that hour, and a new day began, from 
which the shadows of the night rolled back forever. 


A LIITLE MESSENGER. 


367 


CHAPTER LIII. 

A LITTLE MESSENGER. 

That day, Larry, with scarcely any aid, came down to dinner 
His strength seemed to renew itself strangely ; but his old up- 
right bearing, the dashing grace that belonged to his figure in 
the past, was entirely gone ; he bent forward slightly as he 
moved along, and he slid his feet cautiously over the floor as if 
not quite sure of his footing. It was his sight which had suf- 
fered, as they soon began to discover ; and that lent an uncer- 
tain air to his movements and a contraction to his brows, in the 
effort he made to look steadily, that still more altered the char- 
acter of his face from what it had been. There was a new inmate 
in the household now, and he detected that at once, and asked, 
in a suspicious whisper : 

“ Who is she ? what did she come for V’ 

His mother, who had rarely broken the solemn silence that 
had brooded over her face and mien since she had learned the 
story of poor J uliet’s mystery; was slow to answer. 

“ Larry,” said Bess, very impressively, and she leant forward 
and touched his hand as she spoke ; “ that woman is a nurse. 
She comes here to take care of a Uttle baby we have. Shall I 
show you the baby, Larry ? Will you like to look at it ?” 

He laughed foolishly, and looked all about him and on the 
walls and ceiling, then he turned again to Bess, and composed 
his face to seriousness. 

‘‘ What is it ?” he asked ; “ show it to me ?” 

She looked from one to the other, but neither Berkely nor his 
aunt spoke, so she rose, and going out, returned with the infant 
in her arms, and brought it up to him, and held it that he migh 
look upon it closely. 

At first his face was awe-struck and very grave, almost to 
alarm, at the near contemplation ol so tiny a living thing ; then 
he breathed hard, put out his finger to touch it, which he finally 


368 


THE M0REIS0N8. 


did, and growing bolder, stroked its velvet cheek very softly with 
his hand. The baby’s violet eyes seemed to fix themselves upon 
him with its motho^te glance, and the bud of a mouth broke into 
a smile under the motion of his fingers. 

His whole face changed to an expression of intense, triumphant 
ioy ; his empty eyes opened wide, and he laughed outright and 
clapped his hands. 

“ Is it yours, Bess ? shall we keep it he cried. “ Don’t let 
it go ; say that you lost it, if they come for it, and I’ll hide it 
for you till they go.” 

The earnestness of his voice, and the anxiety of the poor, 
meaningless face, that, like rippling water, held the reflec- 
tion of any feeling but for an instant, was too much for 
his poor mother’s burdened soul ; she bowed her head and mur- 
mured : 

“ The Almighty Father has denied him the instinct of a brute 
creature. He does not know his child I” 

Bess laid it softly in his arms. 

“ Kiss it, Larry,” she said, gently, “ while I tell you how 
it came here. An angel, who is spending the first day of her 
eternal joy in heaven, gave it to me to keep for you. Yes, it is 
yours. You understand that, I know ; and by-and-bye it will 
have a voice to speak to you, and then it can tell you all the 
holy love the angel left in its keeping for you, and it can teach 
you how to feel it in your own heart ” 

“ And then I may go with it to the angel,” said Larry, eager- 
ly, finishing what Bess was trying to say. 

“ Yes, 'then you may go,” said Bess, solemnly ; and she laid 
her restraining finger on her aunt’s lips, and pointing to the new 
sense that dawned like a faint flickering light in his face, whis- 
pered : 

“ Let the little messenger tell its own story in its own way — i 
none of us will ever speak so well to him.” 


LARRY IS CHIEF MOURNER. 


369 


CHAPTER LIY. 

LARRY IS CHIEF MOURNER. 

The house of Miss Waters, in East Grove Street, was closed, 
and long black streamers floated from the door and windows. 
Carriages blocked up the street, and the pageantry of a grand 
funeral was in progress. 

Contrary to the ideas of the incensed Mrs. Waters, the de- 
mented wife of her unfortunate brother was to have a burial that 
corresponded with the wealth and position she had once graced 
in life. It had been out of that dignified matron’s power to as- 
sail her little sister-in-law with reproaches, when she came to hear 
of her real end — and have the story of the odd substitution of 
the cloak and hood explained to her — for Mr. Joseph Waters 
had not deemed it best to confide the discovery of Juliet to his 
wife until every one else in the family knew of it. 

Katie had been indignant at her death, but her coming to life 
again was, as she said, an insult to them all that nothing but the 
entire extermination of the tribe of Waters could ever wipe out. 
Her own husband was the Lot whom she rescued from the Sodom . 
of annihilation which she wished to overtake his sister, who repre- 
sented the sole remaining branch of the devoted family. 

“ And I am thankful to Providence,” (to which power it was 
noticeable she never was grateful for any real good,) “ that my 
necessary seclusion, though I have rather chafed at it, prevents 
the possibility of my being dragged over there to that mummery 
for the sake of appearances.” 

Mrs. Waters alluded thus to the last honors that were then in 
jK’ogress of being paid to her brother’s wife, and she had her 
chair drawn over to the window, and a good-sized book of Italian 
views carried in, tiiat she might choose her route during the pro- 
jected continental tour, and drive that stupid horror out of her 
mind. 

She was the only missing member of the family circle. All 


370 


THE MORRISONS. 


were there. Mrs. Morrison had, in the face of all fumily prece- 
dents, determiued that they who had welcomed the young bride 
should stand around her grave. 

She had had a secret council with Dr. Windell, that resulted 
in Larry’s being dressed in his mourning suit, and driven over to 
Grove Street with the rest. 

She held his arm, even as she sate by him in the carriage, and 
he was very quiet, either from the change or some indefinable 
feeling of solemnity imparted by the mournful manner of the rest. 
They all alighted and went into the hall, where Barnes stood 
waiting, and pointed to a door at which they entered. 

Charlotte was there and greeted them silently, as each fell 
into their place, as if in dread to break the awful stillness that 
reigned. 

Mrs. Morrison, still holding her son’s arm, gave him a seat 
that placed him with his back to all the rest. This was be- 
cause, in the dim twilight of the other room, you might descry the 
shadowy outline of a coffin, and she dreaded to have his eye rest 
upon the face it held. 

It seemed a useless precaution — he would never have know it 
as belonging to the girl he had wooed and won two little years 
ago. There was nothing of youth or loveliness about it now; 
strangely old and pinched in feature, it had wasted into 9, 
shrivelled dwarfishness that bore no stronger semblance to i^s 
past beauty than the leaves of an artificially preserved flower do 
to their garden bloom. 

Turning sadly away as they kissed the cold blue lips, Bess «and 
Berkely thanked heaven that the earth would soon hide this 
dumb reproach to human cruelty, and with one accord theireyes 
rested ‘on the man whose hand his mother clasped, and wlio sate 
awed and wondering at the new sccive around him. In its hu- 
miliation and pitiable helplessness,, the, change that had come 
upon him was quite as sad as the one he had wrought for otiiers; 
but they who felt that, were those who looked at him, tHdse who 
had gloried in and been half blinded by the light of his lost 
beauty, who had tried to believe that surely there must be Sbine 
tender, merciful judgment wherein the offences of one so alluringly 


LARRY IS CHIEF MOURNER. 


371 


handsome would meet no stern computation nor his short com- 
ings be dealt harshly with.' For himself, he neither knew nor 
felt the loss of anything, but was completely content, inavsmuch as 
remorseful fear, or whatever other slavish instincts had followed 
his wrong doing, were gone too, and he neither dreaded nor real- 
ized evil, nor had any remembrance of the past that made the 
present bitter. 

Before the minister’s first solemn words were spoken, a splen- 
didly dressed woman, whose gorgeous garments conti-asted pain- 
fully with the mourning robes of all around, glided in silently and 
bowed her veiled head with the rest. As they all knelt toge- 
ther, the rich texture of her gown brushed the sombre skirt of 
Mrs. Morrison, who, unconscious of her neighborhood, neither 
moved aside nor looked at her. It was well it was so ; not even 
the funeral ceremony of her daughter-in-law would have sancti- 
fied the presence of the vile actress, Addie West, to that indig- 
nantly virtuous woman. In her own heart she had always looked 
on the girl as a serpent in Larry’s path, and had she known her 
story, would have entirely acquitted her son of more than weak- 
ness in yielding to temptation. 

As it was, she never heard how, when utterly houseless and 
forsaken, the dead woman had known no other friend, and would 
have perished in the streets but for the bountyof the large heart 
that beat boldly under such gaudy robes. She did not hear that, 
dying, she had held a hand of hers and Bess, and raising them in 
both her own towards that heaven to which her soul was tending, 
prayed an equal blessing on them both with her last breath. 

Mrs. Morrison saw her not, neither did her son, for when the 
closed cofliii left the shadows and came out into the full summer 
sunshine, to take its last slow journey, and she touched the un- 
conscious widower in token that he must follow, the actress stood 
weeping in the way, straining her great bright eyes after the cas- 
ket that held the object of her tender care for past months. 

Obedient to his mother’s signal, he rose, but his sight was weak 
now, and he stumbled, catching the mantle of the watching wo- 
man to steady himself. She turned as she felt the motion, and 
seeing him, made a faint, stifled sound, and shrunk away in pity, 
24 


372 


THE MOKEISONS. 


astonishment, and sorrow that swallowed up the wrath and 
vengeful wrongs of years. 

He did not see her, or seeing, did not heed her, so mother and 
son went out together, and followed close upon the hearse, all 
the way to the cemetery, he watching idly from the windows of 
the carriage, sucking the head of his cane, or tapping it upon 
the seat before him ; and she looking steadily into the future, and 
praying silently that the wrath of Heaven might now be stayed, 
and the bruised reed be bent no longer. 

There were none but mourning figures round the open grave ; 
the gay colors of the actress did not offend the eye here, for 
Charlotte Waters had implored her to remain away, lest Mrs. 
Morrison might be distressed by her presence ; but when return- 
ing, the party from Burleigh Place alighted at their own door in 
the sad twilight, she was standing motionless under a shade-tree, 
and watched the slow progress of the halting figure, stumbling 
up the steps, down which she had often seen him bound with the 
proud grace of an Adonis. 

This was a farewell glance, as Bess and Berkely knew, for 
Addie WesPs talent was acknowledged by the public, and she 
had received flattering offers from a distant city, whither she was 
going for the coming year, and Barnes had already placed a bill 
on the two-story house round the corner from Myer’s Lane. 


CHAPTER LY. 

f “ BESS MORRISON.” 

There was a great deal in the filliifg of the web of Mrs. Mor- 
rison’s life and fortunes that wa,s a mystery to her, and would 
always continue so to be till the end of all things. But these were 
the dark hues that had best be hidden by the brighter shades 
that Bess possessed the skill to overcast them with. 

A few related to Larry personally. When his illucss had be- 


“ BESS MOERISON.” 373 

come known, and its serious character acknowledged, the door- 
bell of the house in Burleigh Place was hourly echoing with in- 
quirers demanding to know who had charge of his business, and 
to whom should be addressed the claims for payment of his va- 
rious out-standing debts. 

They never went further than Bess’s ears. She gave them all 
audience, and desiring them brought in, addressed to Berkely, 
took upon herself the settlement of Larry’s last efforts at expen- 
diture, that, considering the time and opportunity given him, were 
of a magnificent character. 

It was nearly a mouth after Juliet’s funeral, that Katie came 
to pay her first visit to her old home, and after a long sitting in 
her mother’s room above stairs, descended to the parlor, to find 
Bess and Berkely there together, she blushing and laughing, and 
he very seriously counting out a roll of bank notes, with heavy 
figures on each. Katie was scandalized, a sensation that was 
easily experienced by her, when Bess was in question ; but she 
was, to do her justice, more curious than shocked in her i)ro- 
priety, and noticing that Ellen O’Toole had been silently mov- 
ing about ill the shadow of the back parlor curtains, which she 
was arranging, the happy idea of learning the meaning of the 
scene through her aid instantly presented itself, and she smiled 
and looked discreetly away, while Berkely hastened to put up 
his money, and Bess to regain her composure. 

Mrs. Waters had of late days changed her manner towards 
her cousin. She had been really shocked to see for herself the 
change Larry’s strange affliction had wrought upon him, and of 
which no one had seemed capable of giving her a clear idea 
before ; but she presently rallied, while her husband strove to 
console her, and telling him sharply that there was no combiiia- 
fion of words that could annoy her as much as that absurd one, 
“ mysterious dispensations of Providence,” which ‘the whole family 
seemed beset to utter, remarked that it was a blessing they had 
Berkely in the family now. He never had Larry’s appearance, 
to be sure ; but there was a certain sometlyng about him, a kind 
of style, that people began to acknowledge. She had been 
asked about him as rather a superior man among men, and 


374 


THE MORRISONS. 


to tell you the truth, she meant to have him now up at the 
Park. 

So Berkely was the consoling phoenix that sprang from the 
ashes of Larry’s perished mind, and Katie smoothed his wings, 
and took kindly to him. 

In pursuance of her design to read the transparent mind of 
Ellen O’Toole, Katie bethought herself to tell her something of 
the baby, as a theme likely to interest so old a friend. 

“ Ellen,” she said, pleasantly, going out into the dining-room, 
where she was arranging the table, and leaving Berkely and Bess 
and Mr. Waters in the parlor. 

“ Ellen, you have never seen my baby, have you ? He’s a 
splendid fellow, and you really must see him.” 

Ellen smiled grimly, 

“ You know we’ve a baby ov our own, ma’am,” she replied, 
“ and you would have hard work to make us tliink it iver had 
an aiquil. We none ov uz would let it out ov our arms, if it 
wasn’t for Miss Bess, who won’t have it spoilt, she says.” 

Katie heartily disliked any mention of Juliet’s helpless legacy. 
“ It was just what they might have looked for from her,” she 
said, “hiiot content with making a scandal, she had to leave 
this precious memento, to keep it in people’s recollections.” 

She had seen it lying asleep on Larry’s bed, and his bent 
figure watching it, with his finger on his lips, lest any one should 
disturb its slumber ; but it touched no chord in her mother’s 
heart, whose love was of that style that resented another baby’s 
sharing the family’s interest in hers, although she was content to 
have it draw the fostering strength of its tiny life from a stran- 
ger’s bosom, rather tlian have it ruffle the exquisite laces that 
covered her own. 

“ It’s a pretty little tiling, Ellen,” she assented, with apparent 
cordiality, “ and Miss Bess and Mr. Berkely are very fond of it, 
no doubt. I suppose it was to buy it some costly gift, that he 
was giving her the money just now ?” 

If ever a pair of handsome eyes looked keen and questioning, 
hers did as she bent them on the gigantic priestess of her 
mother’s kitchen altars, who now stood with her lips pursed up, 


BESS MOEEISON. 


(( 


375 


but a sort of irresolution quivering in tlieir corners. They opened 
wide and Ellen laughed. 

“ Yes, ma’am, yer right ; but ye wouldn’t think it, if I didn’t 
explain till ye.” 

She went over and closed the door, then came back on tiptoe, 
and whispered : 

“ Yer brother up stairs — Mr. Larry, I mane — was a real gen- 
tleman at spending the money, I hear. Sorra a bit of trouble 
the gitting clear of thousands gave him ; if 'Wastin’ was worth 
that was paid for it, sure he’d be a rieh man the day.” 

Mrs. Waters looked severely at the speaker. 

“ Ellen !” she said, softly and reprovingly. 

“ Yes, ma’am, I’m telling ye,” said Elleii, cheerfully. “ So ye 
see he’s got into one debt and another wid gamin’ and bettiu’, 
and club bills and wine bills — that there has jist been a steady 
shower ov thim all for the last week or two — and whin all comes 
to be settled there’s nothing to pay the dues. Then Miss Bess 
wouldn’t let yer mother know, for what she has will only kape 
hersilf and Mr. Larry’s whims supplied, and the upshot is that 
Miss Bess has sold Mr. Berkely the house, and he’s paid her for 
it, and the resates is to be a present to the wee baby, whose fa- 
ther’s name they’re kaping from the reproach ov dishonesty. She 
woulil do it herself, do you mind, and he wouldn’t stop her when 
she said she wanted to go to him as poor as a beggar.” 

Ellen O’Toole raised her streaming eyes to the ceiling, and the 
cx})ression of her great waste of countenance under the strong in- 
fluence of sentiment and feeling, was such that her listener, per- 
plexed and surprised as she was, by the disclosure, had to laugh 
outright. 

” Och, but it’s beautiful to see thim two ; sure me eyes is 
never dry lookin’ at them,” she concluded, perfectly unconscious 
of Mrs. Waters’ mirth. 

Quite satisfied now on the subject of the money, that lady rose 
and walked slowly back to the parlor. She wms a thorough 
philosopher, and always saved her self worriment by looking at 
the best view she could take of things. 

“ I might have known there would be debts,” she said ; Larry 


376 


THE MORRISONS. 


coiildu’t koep out of debt if he liad been worth millions. Yes, 
this certainly is the best way they could be settled ; if I had 
known of it, I should have been obliged to do something and 
come to Joseph for the cash — that would have been humiliating. 
Though he’s a clever creature, it’s a bad thing to leave the o.ssist- 
i I ig of his wife’s relations in any man’s liands — it’s a weapon he 
may strike her with covertly at any minute. Yes, yes, Berkely 
and Bess have certainly acted for the best.” 

Returning to the parlor, she found the whole family there as- 
sembled — ^Larry in his own peculiar chair, that was soft and 
cushioned as if to suit the failing strength of an old man, and in 
it he passed nearly all his waking hours, for he showed a strong 
objection to going abroad anywhere. Now he was playing with 
“ Bess’s baby,” as he called the child, who in reality bore her 
mother’s name, and in this pastime consisted the one great joy of 
his existence. 

Bess would catch it up and run backwards with it in her arms, 
and then suddenly bringing it towards him, would let him kiss it, 
to snatch it away again. The little creature would laugh at the 
motion, but her poor father’s delight was pitiable in its excess. 

Berkely and Joseph Waters sate talking together, and Katie 
took a seat beside her mother, and looked at the tiny little 
zephyr socks she was knitting. 

“ They’re very pretty, mother ; who would have thought that 
you should be making them for Larry’s child ; you know he used 
to laugh so when you heeled his for him.” 

“Joseph, do look at my mother’s ancient work-basket ; it is 
venerable enough to take a place in your museum of trophies. 
It must surely be years since you used it before, mother ?” 

“ Yes,” returned her mother, sighing ; “ it seems many a day 
since I had a quiet enough of mind to enjoy a peaceful employ- 
ment like this.” 

“ Those are pretty embroideries, ain’t they ?” Katie’s husband 
aske<l, us in the investigation of the work-box several pieces of 
delicate lawn, covered with wrought figures, fell out. J^Irs. Mor- 
rison looked at them with melancholy pride. 

“ Ytjs, I was thought quite a hand at such things in the Mo^ 


SUNSHINE. 


377 


ravian’s scbool where I was educated when a girl. Your poor 
Uncle Terry, Katie, thought my needle-work was equal to India 
embroidery, and he knew all about it, you know.” 

“What is this?” asked her son-in-law, taking up a piece and 
examining it admiringly. 

“Oh, dear, is that there? it^s over two years since I put a^ 
stitch in it, and I thought it was laid away somewhere.” 

“ It’s a handkerchief,” said Joseph, slowly, as he opened it 
out — “and what are these beautiful letters, ‘Bess Morrison ?’” 

He spelt out the name, and looked up inquiringly, without ap- 
pearing to apply it to any one. 

Mrs. Morrison’s pale face colored a little, and Bess stood still 
with the baby in her arms. 

“ It’s a wedding-gift for my dear girl there,” said her aunt, 
slowly. “ She’ll like it better, being the work of my old fingers, 
than if it were twice as finely wrought in France or India.” 

She sighed, because they knew, as they all did, that it was 
begun long before Berkely Morrison had sailed home from China, 
and that the bridegroom around whom all her fond hopes had 
^entered then was weak and broken as that faded dream. 


CHAPTER LYI. 

SUNSHINE. 

A YEAR and a day, that magic time proverbially given to joy 
or sorrow, watching or memory, before change is legitimate or 
the new usurps the place of the old, had come and gone in Bur- 
leigh Place before an evening paper, in its announcements, told 
of the marriage of Berkely Morrison and Elizabeth Saunders. 

Mr. and Mrs. Joseph were but just returned from abroad, 
where that circle of time had past for them among great old 
cities, in the oldest of which they had left a little grave six 
months before ; for, despite the lace and the French nurses, the 


378 


THE MORRISONS. 


baby did not grow and flourish as the expense lavished on it 
demanded it should. 

Katie had been greatly distressed at this loss — greatly dis- 
tressed ; but she was a judicious woman, and wlien, a month 
afterwards, they left Rome, she did her best to leave the memo- 
ry of the perished little form it held in its classic earth behind 
her too ; for, as she knew in her heart, grief agreed ill with a 
person of her fair complexion, and she had already lost a great 
deal of her bloom during that fearfully dreary month. 

Her husband, because, perhaps, that his color was not so ma- 
terial in its importance to him, was not able to find content as 
readily. 

God only knew how much of that large heart was buried in 
that little heap of earth in the Eternal city ; he turned 'away 
from his last look at the siiining little coffin, with a tender chord 
severed in its inmost depths that never was strengthened or 
made whole again, for this was Joseph Waters’ first and last 
child. 


When Katie was settled at home in West Park once more, 
and had seen her mother and heard from her of Bess’s marriao:e, 
she at once accepted her invitation to come to Burleigh Place. 

“ i’ll go down this afternoon, mother,” she said, amiably, for 
I do long so to see the old home, and tell Bess with my love and 
good wishes that I shall not wait for her visit, but just run over 
at once.” 

This pleased Mrs. Morrison, and she told her niece, ‘‘that 
Katie was improved in every way, though she looked a little 
worn, but that was about the baby, poor thing.” 


Katie saw some little change even before she left the carriage 
to run up into the old hall once more. Berkely had, in his taste 
lor improvement, given the house a finer front, and had balco- 
nies placed at the upper windows, that were now filled with a 
grove of roses and heliotropes, and where birds in bright cages 
sung in the sunshine, and gold fishes sparkled and darted ^bout 
in glass globes. 


SUNSHINE. 


379 


“ That is Larry^s room,” she said to herself, remembering 
what his mother had told her of the devices of Berkely for the 
pleasure of the poor creature. “ They give up the best of the 
house to him ; well, really, they are an odd pair, an odd pair, 
indeed.” 

The “ odd pair ” met her the next instaut in the door-way, 
and she kissed them both heartily, for Katie had really nothing 
in her mind to forgive them, and they looked so presentably 
well, that her family love quite glowed in her heart. 

In the parlor, there had been a great deal of brightening, 
for Bess was passionately fond of elegant furniture, and Katie’s 
critical eye saw nothing that it could fail to admire in the new 
fittings up of the whole establishment ; but neither the warmth 
of their welcome nor the pleasure she felt in finding no draw- 
backs to her determination to bring out the family publicly, 
could equal her astonishment at Bess’s beauty. “ The girl’s 
grown positively radiant,” she thought, “ and she used to look 
so haggard.” She glanced uneasily in a mirror. “ I look a 
fright beside her ; what is it that makes her so handsome ?” 

Bess could have answered her in one word — “ Happiness.” 

Mrs. Morrison came in with Larry, who had nothing to boast 
of in tlie year that had gone, except an increased sense of enjoy- 
ment in his child and in childish pleasures. 

He was so obedient to every word and look addressed to him, 
that Katie could scarcely tell whether he remembered her or 
not ; for when his mother said : 

“ Ain’t you glad to see Katie, Larry — your sister Katie ?” he 
laughed and rubbed his hands, repeating : 

“ Oh, yes, sister Katie,” and then went and kissed her. 

“ Where’s Baby ?” cried Bess. 

And her aunt replied : “ She’s in the garden with Barnes.” 

“ Of course,” thought Katie, testily, as Berkely went to bring 
her in, “ it wouldn’t be Bess unless she could have some fright 
or other hanging about the house.” 

“ You have that man Barnes still, it seems I” she said aloud. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Bess, pleasantly ; “ he’s actually indispensable 


380 


THE MORRISONS. 


> 

to Larry ; and besides, he tliorongdily understands my husband’s 
business, and saves him so much trouble.” 

“ Your iiusband, Bess,” repeated Katie, laughing. “ Oh, how 
oddly that sounds !” 

' “Does it?” said Bess, simply; “ it seems very natural to 
me.” 

Berkely came in, leading by the hand the little one they called 
Baby, because no one had courage enough to try and become 
familiar with her mother’s name again. She was a larger child [ 
than most of her age, and had full, frank, blue eyes, and an open, ' 

truthful face, that made her look older than the little creature ; 

she was. f 

Larry brightened the instant he saw her. { 

“ Come, Bess’s baby,” he said, “come and play.” 

“ Will you kiss aunt Katiq^ttle one?” that la, dy conquered a 
feeling of bitterness to say ; for this child reminded her strongly 
of the little Roman, mound, and she did not care to look at it. 

Not so her husband ; when he came in an hour after and saw 
the child, his face wrought with feeling, and he took it up and 
pressed it to his bosom. 

“ That is already such a contested bit of mortality between 
aunt and Larry and Bess and me, that I rather dread a new as- 
pirant for favor,” said Berkely, laughing. “ Baby,” he added, 
tell Uncle Joe who loves you.” 

“ Every one,” said the child, simply. 

“ God bless you, my darling,” said Mr. Waters, fervently. 

“ And who do you love ?” 

“ My Aunt Bess, and every one,” answered Baby. 

“ Which would go to prove that Aunt Bess is not exactly every- 
body, and that Uncle Berkely rather thinks she’s something su- 
perior,” said Katie, laughing graciously. 

Berkely smiled. 

“ I daren’t praise my wife,” he said ; “ that would be in bad 
taste, so I cannot speak of her at all.” 

Mr. Waters sat down close to tiis mother-in-law. 

“ You are looking like old times here,” he said. “ There is a 


SUNSHINE. 881 

happy change on every face but Larry’s, poor fellow, and ho 
seems contented.” 

“ He’s liai)py, thank God,” said his mother, huskily ; “ and for 
us all, things are better now than 1 ever hoped to see them. 
There is no cloud without light, and Larry’s has a bright lining, 
if we only look at it, and remember the past. Then Baby — but 
may be you don’t care for children as we do ?” and stie looked 
ai him inquiringly. 

Joseph Waters choked down a rising pang at heart, and not 
being one to parade his feelings before the world, smiled sadly, 
and said : “ I do like children.” 

“ Well, Heaven only knows what this darling is to us. She 
would keep away sighing from heavy hearts, and ours have no 
cause to be that.” 

Mrs. Morrison kept her old place at the head of her table, and 
Bess took her usual seat at her right hand. There was a seat 
kept for Charlotte Waters, and soon she made her appearance, 
and greeting her sister-in-law civilly, (beyond that, Charlotte’s 
Christian charity did not carry her), she embraced her brother, 
with a strong effort to cont^^l the feeling that was too much for 
both of them. But Katie ^was not in a mood to be jarred upon ; 
she talked to all warmly, cheerfully, and even affectionately, 
having her reasons for being agreeable, as she imparted to Dr. 
Dacey, who dropped in during the evening. 

“I am really delighted to find home so charming,” she said ; 
“ and we all owe our dear Cousin Berkely more than ,we can 
repay, for living in this plain, and rather out-of-the-way style, to 
make my mother happy. You know, doctor, he’s a very wealthy 
man, and one who, I have reason to believe, has won the respect 
and confidence of society here, for his sterling qualities, and for 
his able and efficient aid in city charities, improvements, and all 
kinds of liberal works. Bess is a fortunate girl, and they both 
deserve to be happy.” 

Her mother joined her, and hearing her subject, went heartily 
and tearfully into the theme. Katie looked around her ; Char- 
lotte was sitting by Larry’s side, and they held the baby between 
them, cordially combining in petting her, and devoting them- 


382 


THE MOKRISONS. 


selves to her pleasure. There was something too large in Char- 
lotte^s nature to despise or hate a fallen enemy; she had buried 
her wrath ngainst him with his lost wits and the memory of his 
wife’s wrongs. The great blue eyes that looked from one to the 
other, now could see no painful anger on either face — all was 
forgiven between them ; he remembered nothing, and she had 
succeeded in forgetting. 

Bess was standing at her husband’s side, and he was looking 
at the opposite wall. 

“ I’m thinking, aunt,” he said, “ that when they send home 
Uncle Terry’s portrait. I’ll have to have another taken to place 
here between Nelly’s and Katie’s. Should you like to see Bess 
as Summer ? she seems the very impersonation of it to me.” 

The light of sunset shot down upon her golden hair, and 
danced in the warm depths of her dark eyes, as she stood smiling, 
with his hand upon her shoulder, waiting their reply. 

“ If there was anything brighter than sunshine, Bess darling, 
I’d call you that,” her aunt said, earnestly ; “ but, Berkely, it’s 



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American and English Authors. 

To Collectors of Libraries, or those desiring to form them. 

M.'iny who have the taste, and wish to form a Library, are deterred by fear of the cost. 
<'o all snch we would say, that a large number of books may be furnished for even One 
Hundred Dollars — which, by a yearly increase of a small amount, will before long place 
the purchaser iu possession of a Library in almost every branch of knowledge, and 
afford satisfaction not only to the collector, but to all those who are so fortunate as to 
possess his acquaintance. 

For the convenience of Book buyers, and tho.se seeking suitable Works for Presenta- 
rion, great care is takeu iu having a large and varied collection, and all the current 
works of the day. Show counters and shelves, with an excellent selection of Standard, 
Illustrated, and Illuminated works, varying in price to suit all buyers, are available to 
those tisiting our estaolishment, where purchases may be made with facility, and the 
time of the visitor greatly economized. Here maybe seen not only books of the simplest 
kind for children, J[)ut also exquisite works of art, of the most sumptuous character, 
suitable alike to admu the drawing-room table and the study of the connoisseur. 

Our arrangements for supplying Standard American Books, suitable for Public Libra* 
riea and Private Families, are complete, and our stock second to none in the country. 

Catalogues are sent, on application, and great attention is paid to communications 
from the country, and the goods ordered carefully packed and forwarded with expedition 
OD reseipt of orders accompanied with the cash. 


To Booksellers and Librarians. 

T B. Peterson & Brothers issue New Books every month, comprising the most enter- 
taining and absorbing works published, suitable for the Parlor, Library, Sitting Room, 
Railroad or Steamboat i-eading, by the best and most popular writers in the world. 

Anv person wanting hooks will find it to their advantage to send their orders to the 
•"PUBLISHING HOUSE-’ OF T. B. PETERSON & BROS., SOfi Chestnut St., Philadelphia, 
who have the largest stock in the country, and will supply them at vei-y low prices for 
cash. Wo have just issued a new and complete Catalogue aud Wholesale Price Lists, 
which wo seud gratuitously to any Bookseller or Librarians on application. 

Orders solicited from Librarians, Booksellers, Canvassers, News Agents, and all others 
iu want of good and fast selling books, aud they will please send on their orders. 

F.ncloso ton, twenty, fifty, or a hundred dollars, or more, to us iu a letter, and write 
what kind of hooks you wish, and on its receipt the hooks will be sent to you at ouce, 
l)or first express, or any way you direct, with circulars, show bills, etc., gratis. 

Agents and Canvassers are requested to send for our Canvassers’ Confidential Circular 
containing instructions. Largo wages can be piade, as we supply our Agents at very 
low rates. ^ 

.meet s^i’j^mpt attention, to 

AND BROTHERS, 

300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Penns* 


Address all cash orders, retail^ w^le 

T. B. PETERSON 


Books Bent, postage paid, on receipt of retail price, to any address in the country. 

All the NEW BOOKS are for sale at PETERSONS’ Book Store, as soon as published. 

Publishmw^f “ PETERSONS” DETECTOR and BANK NOTE LIST,” a Business 
Journal aui^^i/uable Advertising medium. Price SL.'iO a year, monthly; or $3.00% 
year, Beiai-%nt*ry. Every Business man should subscribe at once. 



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